


Beautiful Things

by SeaDreaming



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cancer, Friendship, Gen, Harry Has Cancer, Harry throws up a lot, PTSD, Sick Harry, Trio centric, angsty, some unpleasant imagery of illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-22 11:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 48,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7434507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaDreaming/pseuds/SeaDreaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Complete. Voldemort was defeated in Harry's 6th year. Now in his 7th year, Harry struggles with PTSD. However, surviving the killing curse resulted in more damage to Harry's body than anyone could have suspected. He develops an incurable, unknown form of cancer that only very dark magic can cause. How will everyone deal with it? Not a happy story. Trio-centric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series, or any of its characters, plots or settings. They all belong to JK Rowling. I make no money from the writing of this story as it's purely for entertainment purposes.

Harry sat in the compartment of the Hogwart's Express, his head leaning against the cool pane of the window as he stared out at the passing scenery. His thoughts were a bit far away, and there was an incessant throbbing in his head from a headache he'd had for days now. He figured it had something to do with getting so little sleep over the summer, and possibly a little to do with stress in general. Even though Voldemort's demise meant that he no longer had to stay with his aunt and uncle, he found the summer to still have been a miserable one.

After the war, he had rented a flat of his own with some of the money his parents had left him. It was a small place, barely enough room for one person, and Harry supposed it had something to do it the fact he was already quite used to living in small spaces. Anything larger would have felt odd to him, and he was sure he wouldn't have known what to do with it. Despite knowing that he should have been happy to finally be living on his own, Harry actually found himself quite lonely and sad the entire summer.

Every night, he was haunted by either old nightmares of Cedric's and Sirius's deaths, or new ones of Voldemort and the battle at Hogwarts. He could still see those ruthless, red eyes in his mind, still feel the the panic he'd experienced that night, with such vividness he sometimes forgot he wasn't actually there. Some nights, he would wake up drenched in sweat, his mind frantic and irrational, convincing himself that Voldemort was in the room with him. It was nights like those that he wasn't able to return to sleep.

Even when Ron and Hermione stayed over, it wasn't enough to banish the heavy cloak of despair that had settled over his flat. The nightmares still came and the loneliness persisted. Hermione assured him that it was common to experience such feelings after such war and a near-death experience. She also assured him that it would eventually fade with time. Harry just wondered exactly how long that was going to take, because those feelings were becoming unbearable to handle.

The gentle slide of the compartment door opening brought Harry from his thoughts and he looked up to see Ron and Hermione walking in. They had spent the first part of the ride in the prefects compartment, attending to their new-found duties as Head Boy and Girl. They assured him that they would return for the remainder of the journey as soon as they were done. True to their promise, they settled in the seat across from Harry, who sat up straight to greet them.

"Blimey, cheer up, Harry," Ron said in a good-natured tone, though Harry did not miss the undertone of concern in it. "I didn't think you could out-brood yourself from last year, but you're definitely giving it a good go."

Harry gave a small smile.

"Oh, Ron, leave Harry alone," Hermione swatted the red-headed boy on the shoulder and turned her sympathetic brown eyes onto Harry. "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good," Harry lied. His head was still killing him and his thoughts were still annoyingly heavy. Sometimes he wished he could just shut his brain off, because it was generally just troublesome. There was no such luck for the Boy-Who-Lived, though, because his brain was still as functional as ever and frequently reminding him of how miserable he was. He nearly laughed at himself.

_'Ron's right. I am broody as hell.'_

"You should have come over more during the summer," Ron said, stretching his arms above his head as he tried to get his lanky body into a more comfortable position. "Mum would have adored having you there seeing as things have been kind of, I dunno, empty ever since...well."

Ron's words fell into silence and Harry could tell that the red-head was struggling to keep himself together. He never missed the way Ron looked like he wanted to cry when the subject of Fred came up. He truly felt sympathetic towards his friend, and though he could not understand exactly what he was going through, he knew he could empathize with him more than most. After all, he had lost many people too.

"Anyway, you seemed so down all by yourself in that flat," Ron finished, seeming to have gotten himself together enough to continue.

"I guess I just needed some time to, you know, adjust," Harry said, shrugging his shoulders. Truth be told, he would have loved to have spent the entire summer at the Weasley household. He was finally free to come and go as much as he wanted, whenever he wanted, which was something he thought he would never be able to do. There were some days in the Dursley household where Harry had felt sure he was going to be trapped there forever.

Yet, something kept him from truly enjoying his freedom. A large part of him wanted to shut off from the world so he could just sit back and _breathe_. He needed to figure himself out. What was his life now that it wasn't constantly revolving around Voldemort and trying to defeat him? Oddly, the absence of those things left a huge, gaping hole in Harry's life that he wasn't sure how to fill. It was almost as if he'd lost his purpose and now he just existed.

The rational part of his brain told him that he was being ridiculous, and that his life was, of course, worth more than that. However, the emotional, irrational part of his brain always begged the question: _but was it really?_ For the last few months, he had felt extremely displaced, like he was awkwardly bumbling about in life, trying to find his designated spot in it and not quite getting there.

"That's understandable," Hermione nodded. "It's been kind of a strange time for everyone, you know? I mean, getting used to You-Know-Who finally gone and trying to live normal lives. It's just  _strange_."

"You can say that again," Ron chimed in, his expression taking on the seriousness that Harry was becoming increasingly used to seeing on his once good-humored friend. "I still forget he's gone sometimes."

"Same," Hermione said. Harry just nodded along. He knew exactly how Ron felt, as he spent many nights thinking Voldemort was going to jump out of his closet and kill him. It was kind of relieving to know that he wasn't the only one going through it. He figured the entire world needed time to heal and get used to the new state of things.

"All the more reason to make our last year the best one yet," Ron said, perking up again and grinning at his two friends. That grin was infectious and it spread quite quickly, both Harry and Hermione smiling as well.

"I'm kind of hoping for a dull year, to be honest," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I don't think we've had one normal year since we started Hogwarts."

"Knowing Harry, he'll figure a way to botch this one up too," Ron joked. "He's always getting into trouble."

"You talk as if you weren't getting into trouble right alongside me the past six years ," Harry replied, though he was grinning. For the first time since he'd boarded the train, Harry was starting to feel a bit of ease settle over his heavy heart. His friends were one of the few things that could bring him out of the fog of his depression. At least just enough so that he wasn't drowning in it.

"I should have known being friends with Harry Potter, of all people, was going to be a bloody disaster," Ron teased. While most people took to walking on eggshells around Harry, he could always count on Ron to treat him just the same as always. It made it easier for Harry to forget there was a _reason_ everyone treated him so delicately nowadays. It was like they believed he would break if they even so much as _thought_ of Voldemort near him.

"Love you too, Ron," Harry replied. Hermione was sitting to the side and he could practically _hear_ her rolling her eyes at them. Sometimes he wondered what it was like for her to be stuck between two idiotic teenage boys all the time. Chuckling at the thought, Harry leaned his head back onto the window, closing his eyes so he could try to use the cool glass to soothe his headache again. Hermione and Ron struck up a conversation, though their voices were starting to fade out until they sounded very far away.

_Avada Kedavra!_

Harry jerked awake, taking in a sharp breath as he sat up straight, eyes wide as he looked around the compartment wildly. It took several moments before the dream faded away and Hermione and Ron came back into view. They were both looking at him now, Hermione appearing concerned and Ron frowning. With embarrassment, Harry realized he must have fallen asleep sitting there. He hadn't realized just how fatigued he was until he had closed his eyes.

"Bad dream, mate?" Ron asked a bit tentatively. Harry wished he would just crack some smart-ass joke instead, so he didn't have to feel guilty for worrying his friends, but Ron's face remained serious.

"It wasn't too bad," Harry said, not entirely lying. He'd had worse ones than that. At least this one had been short.

"Seemed like it, though," Ron said, eyeing Harry. "You're drenched in sweat."

Harry frowned, running his arm over his forehead and feeling the slick slide of sweat across his skin. That was a bit odd, seeing as he didn't normally sweat quite that much, even after a particularly terrible dream. Perhaps his dream had been worse than he'd thought. Wiping his face some more, Harry glanced out the window and noticed it was dark out now. How long had he been asleep?

"How much longer until we're there?" he asked, having lost complete track of the time. He still felt a bit disoriented from his nap.

"Not much longer," Hermione answered. "I think about 45 minutes."

Harry was glad. He felt tired and he was looking forward to crawling into his big, comfortable bed and sleeping the whole night through. He wished he could get his hands on a dreamless sleep potion too. He'd kill for one night without the nightmares.

The conversation once again lapsed into comfortable small talk, and it wasn't long before the train started to slow down. Harry, being the only one not in his uniform yet, stood up and began changing, not really caring that Ron and Hermione were there. After all they'd been through together, he highly doubted Harry getting partially nude in front of them would make it to the top of their 'most uncomfortable things experienced by the Gold Trio' list.

Feeling tired from the simple act of standing and changing, Harry sat back down and didn't get back up until the train pulled into Hogsmeade station.

xxxxx

Over the summer, tireless efforts had been made to restore Hogwarts back to its former glory, the school having suffered considerable damage during the battle. As they walked into the Great Hall, Harry thought that it looked exactly the same as it had before the battle. Still, everywhere Harry looked, all he could see was broken pillars, fallen rubble and an innumerable amount of bodies strewn around. He had to close his eyes and take a deep breath to push those thoughts to the back of his head and force himself to walk over to the Gryffindor table.

Plopping down in a seat, Ron and Hermione sat on either side of him and they all waited through the usual sorting and start of term speech by the new Headmistress, Professor McGonagall. That twisting feeling in his stomach returned as Harry thought about Dumbledore, envisioning the wizened old man standing at the head of the school, his long beard standing out in stark contrast against his colorful robes, those blue eyes twinkling kindly and knowingly.

He almost felt the hot prick of tears at the brim of his eyes, but Harry pushed them down and the image of Dumbledore faded, leaving McGonagall standing there in its place. There would be many things Harry needed to adjust to this year, and many faces he would have to get used to not seeing anymore.

_'Dumbledore, Snape, Fred, Colin...'_

"Harry, aren't you going to eat anything?" Hermione's voice cut through his thoughts as she nudged her elbow into his side. Harry snapped back to the present reality and he looked down at the table, noticing it was now filled with an assortment of food and drink. He blinked a couple of times and nodded.

"Er, right, yeah," he said, reaching over and placing a bread roll and a helping of shepherd's pie onto his plate. However, as he sat there staring down at it, his stomach start to churn at the mere thought of eating it and an intense nausea spread from his stomach straight to his head. He had to grip at the edge of the table to keep himself steady.

Glancing around, he was relieved to see that neither Ron or Hermione had witnessed that. He didn't need anymore fretting over his state of being. Picking up his fork, he experimentally brought a small bite of the pie to his lips and placed it into his mouth. Almost instantly, his body rejected the idea of it and he had to inconspicuously spit it back out into his hand.

 _'So much for eating tonight,'_ Harry thought a bit dejectedly. The start-of-term feast was always one of the things he'd looked forward to the most over the summer; he imagined that it probably had something to do with the fact he always arrived half-starved after three months with the Dursleys. Now that he was eating regularly (well, as regularly as he could force himself to) he supposed it was no longer as special as it had once been.

He supposed that was even more so true now that so much was different at Hogwarts. There was an atmosphere of trauma and brokenness throughout the student body, especially from those who had experienced the battle first hand. This helped Harry remind himself that he wasn't the only one going through it, wasn't the only one still suffering even months later. Hell, Ron, who had lost a _brother_ in the war, seemed to be handling it better than Harry was.

By the time the feast ended, Harry had barely touched his food, something that had not gone unnoticed by Hermione. She had her lips pursed over her teeth and a very displeased look on her face. However, to Harry's great relief, she did not say anything about it. Instead, everyone exited the Great Hall to head to their respective houses. Ron and Hermione had gone ahead to take care of some Head Boy and Head Girl duties, while Harry kind of lagged behind the group. He did not understand why his legs felt so heavy and tired; he figured he really needed a good night's rest.

He barely mumbled a hello to his fellow Gryffindors before heading straight up to his dorm and collapsing on his bed. His face sunk into his pillow, and even as he lied there with his eyes close, he was met with the sensation of the bed spinning underneath him. Taking a few deep breaths to slow the spinning sensation, he eventually worked himself into a fitful sleep.

The entire night, his dreams were plagued by the sound of an evil, taunting laughter.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry woke up the next day to a pounding headache and an a wave of nausea so intense he would have barfed if it were not for the fact his stomach was completely empty. Lifting his head off the pillow, Harry noticed that it was quite damp. Still feeling foggy-headed from sleep, he went through several moments of confusion before he came to the realization that it was his own sweat. Sitting up, he now noticed his shirt was also clinging to his form, nearly drenched through. Harry frowned, wondering how hot it had gotten in the room to cause him to sweat that much. He knew it was far too early in the year for the heating charms to be in use yet.

Sliding off the bed, Harry peeled his sweaty shirt off his body and tossed it into his trunk before heading towards the showers. Though not as nauseated as he had been upon waking up, there was still a lingering feeling of dizziness that persisted throughout his morning routine. Now clean and dressed in fresh clothes, Harry felt a little bit better, though and he found some renewed energy because of that.

When he went down into the common room, he saw Ron and Hermione already there, sitting rather close to each other. Harry smiled at the sight, enjoying watching his friends finally be happy together, after so many years of stubbornness and denial. In turn, things between Ginny and himself had fallen through, though oddly he found himself relatively unaffected by it. Somehow, being friends with Ginny felt more right than anything romantic.

"Morning," Harry said, yawning slightly as he walked over to his two friends. They both looked up at him and smiled, though Hermione's eyebrows were slightly furrowed as she took in the sight of him.

"Are you feeling alright?" she asked him. "You're looking a bit peaky."

"Oh don't worry, Hermione, that's Harry's natural look," Ron cut in before Harry could respond to her question.

"Oy! I'll have you know I actually got a bit of a tan this summer," Harry responded with fake offense. He was grateful that Ron had diverted the conversation into lighter territory, though. He did not want to deal with a bunch of questions and worrying, not having near enough energy to spare for that. Though, to put Hermione at ease, he decided to add in, "Besides, I feel much better than I did last night."

"Well, that's good," Hermione said, though she seemed to be having an internal battle over deciding whether or not she believed him. She appeared to settle on believing him, though, because her face eventually relaxed.

"Anyway, are you two ready to head down to breakfast? I'm starving," Ron said as he stood up. He grabbed Hermione by the wrist and pulled her to her feet after him, planting a quick kiss on her lips that took girl by surprise, causing her to make a soft noise and blush.

"Ron's _hungry_? What madness is this!" Harry teased with mock surprise.

"Oh, ha-ha, Harry," Ron said, giving his best mate a playful shove on the shoulder. "Get your arse moving."

Harry just laughed as he lead the way out of the Gryffindor common room, Ron and Hermione following behind and holding hands. Sometimes Harry felt somewhat third-wheelish when they were acting particularly couple-y, but he always convinced himself that neither Ron nor Hermione would ever view him that way. He was just a paranoid person by nature.

As they entered the Great Hall, there were already students scattered about at their respective tables. There were never as many people at breakfast as there tended to be at tea time. However, Harry did receive a few pats on the shoulder/back and murmurs of praise as other students walked past him. He still wasn't used to the increase in attention he now received after defeating Voldemort. Being the Boy-Who-Lived had been bad enough, but being the wizarding world's hero made it ten times worse.

Sitting down heavily in an empty seat, Harry immediately plonked his head on top of the table and groaned. Between his head hurting and the unwanted attention, his mood had drastically taken a turn since leaving the common room.

"Uh oh, Harry's in a mood again," he heard Ron say from beside him. "Better eat fast Hermione, he might flip over the table."

Harry turned his head just enough so he could shoot a glare at the red-head, though he couldn't help but snort in amusement as well. There had been one incident over the summer, where an innocent comment concerning the war had caused Harry to become unreasonably angry, and as a result he'd flipped over the table and stormed out of the flat. At first, it had left Ron and Hermione shell-shocked and Harry extremely ashamed, but after they'd all gotten over it, it had become somewhat of an inside joke between the three of them.

"It'd be an impressive feat to flip over a table this size," Harry commented, finally lifting his head up and sitting normally. His shoulders were still hunched a bit though, his whole body feeling a bit achy and tired.

"With your temper, you could accomplish any number of amazing and scary things, my friend," Ron said, spooning large helpings of eggs onto his plate, followed by several sausages and a couple pieces of toast. Hermione was sipping a glass of pumpkin juice while reading over one of her text books. Harry, on the other hand, stared down at his bowl of porridge, and after deciding it looked far too much like vomit, he pushed it away away from himself and settled on a piece of toast.

"Is that all you're going to eat, Harry?" Hermione asked, lowering her book so she could look at him. It took all of Harry's willpower to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

"No, mum," Harry said, picking up a piece of bacon and shoving it into his mouth pointedly. "Better?"

Hermione just shook her head at him. "Real mature."

Harry just grinned around the mouthful of food, though he was secretly regretting eating that bacon. Just the taste alone was causing a sickening feeling to rise up in his stomach, his throat clenching as if getting ready to vomit. With considerable effort, he forced himself to swallow the bacon down. He'd much rather deal with a little queasiness than endure Hermione's incessant questioning and fretting all day.

He managed to dodge needing to eat anything else for the rest of breakfast, as Hermione's attention had become focused on Ron. When it was time for the first lesson of the day, they threw down the scraps of their breakfast and got up from the table. Harry tried to ignore the way blackness trickled over his vision once he was standing, and attempted to blink it away. Realizing he was now lagging behind Ron and Hermione quite a bit, Harry jogged to catch up with them, striding evenly alongside Ron.

The three of them arrived at the Charms classroom, and Harry couldn't sit down fast enough. Setting his books on top of his desk, he resisted the urge to lay his head down and close his eyes. Even sitting had not done much to alleviate the dizziness he was experiencing and he thought for sure he was going to topple right out of his seat.

_'Ah, yes, that wouldn't garner a ridiculous amount of attention.'_

Ron and Hermione sat next to him, and it was only a few minutes later that Professor Flitwick arrived in the room. He gave a short speech on the subjects they would be covering this year and the upcoming N.E.W.T exams. Like most of the other professors, he only accepted students who had gotten at least an 'E' in Charms on their OWLs. In this case, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had all three been accepted into his N.E.W.T course.

While the lecture began, Harry tried his best to take notes on what the professor was saying, but it was made difficult by the fact that his vision kept blurring on him. He had to repeatedly set his quill down and rub at his eyes until they cleared up again. As they were approaching the last half-hour of the class, Harry had only succeeded in writing down half of what Flitwick had said. He tried not to stress too much about it, though; he could always borrow the notes off of Hermione or Ron later.

Throughout the remainder of the lecture, Harry kept wondering how much more time was left until they were allowed to leave. His stomach was rolling and cramping uncomfortably and he could feel the pressure from the need to vomit building up in his throat again. Jiggling his leg, Harry tapped his quill against his parchment in an attempt to distract himself, sweat building up on his forehead. When the lesson was at last over, Harry hurriedly stuffed all of things into his bag and grabbed his books before jumping up out of his seat and taking off running.

He only just managed to avoid collision with some very confused students as he ran through the corridors, only barely making it to the bathroom in time. Dropping his books unceremoniously to the ground, Harry fell to his knees and started to violently puke into the toilet. Considering he had barely eaten since leaving for Hogwarts, he was really only bringing up a bit of bile and spit. Despite that, his body continued heaving until the nausea finally passed.

Panting heavily, he fell back on his butt and wiped his hands over his face, weakly cleaning off the saliva dribbling from his chin. He was vaguely aware of the door to the bathroom opening and a pair of feet walking towards him.

"Harry?" he recognized Ron's voice immediately. "Blimey, mate, you look terrible."

Harry glanced up at Ron and gave him a half-smile, trying not to look as awful as he felt. "Gee, thanks, Ron."

"Hermione's worried sick about you, running off like that," Ron said, kneeling down next to Harry. "Do you think you caught a bug or something?"

"Yeah, I think it might be the flu or something," Harry said, pushing himself to his feet and using the seat of the toilet as a brace. Ron started gathering up his books for him and held onto them for Harry.

"You should go to Madam Pomfrey," Ron suggested as he waited for Harry to exit the stall before following after him. "She could fix you up quick."

"Yeah, I s'pose," Harry said, turning to Ron and holding his hands out to take his books back. Ron just shook his head and held them against his side, along with his own.

"I got these. You should go to the infirmary before our next lesson."

Harry dropped his hands and sighed in defeat. He really hated the hospital wing, it bore too many memories for him, and the general requirment of sitting still and enduring incessant prodding was unappealing to him at best. However, he'd been there enough times throughout his years at Hogwarts for him to probably have been used to it by now.

"Alright, I'll catch up with you later?" Harry said and then waved in farewell to his friend as the two of them broke off and headed in different directions. Harry took his sweet time getting to the infirmary, though it wasn't entirely due to childish unwillingness. His legs would only move so fast, and if he even attempted to speed up, the ground beneath him would start to tilt.

By the time he reached the infirmary, he was breathing a bit harshly and he had to steady himself with a hand against the wall. When his head cleared a bit, he walked through the doors and looked around for Pomfrey. She was standing on the far end of the room, making up one of the hospital beds with fresh linen.

"Erm," Harry said, catching her attention. Madam Promfrey looked up and when her eyes landed on Harry, he could tell she was resisting the urge to sigh in frustration.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. I was wondering when you'd be paying me a visit," she said, bustling over to him. "I didn't think it'd be quite this soon."

Harry just smiled sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders. "I think I've got a bit of the flu."

"Oh?" she asked, raising a brow. "So soon in the year?"

It was more common for flu to start spreading among the students during the winter months. He was still tempted to point out that it was possible to get the flu any time of the year, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn't want to be on the receiving end of the medi-witch's ire.

Madam Pomfrey actually did sigh this time and she ushered Harry over to one of the beds, sitting him down on it and looking him over. "So, what's the problem?"

"Er, well, I've been feeling really nauseated lately and I threw up just a few minutes ago," Harry explained. Even just thinking about it made the nausea start to rise up again. He swallowed thickly and pushed it back down; the last thing he wanted to do was puke all over Pomfrey.

"I see, you just sit right there, I'll be back in a moment," Pomfrey instructed before walking off. Harry just waited quietly for her return. She came back with a couple of goblets and potions bottles. Setting them down on the table next to the bed, she began pouring the two different potions into different cups.

"Here, this one should take care of the nausea," she said, handing Harry the first potion. Taking a breath, he steeled himself for the awful taste that was sure to come. True enough, the potion slid thickly over his tongue and down his throat, making him shudder more from the feel of it than the taste of it. He suffered through it to the last drop and handed the cup back to the nurse.

"Ugh," he said, wiping his mouth roughly with the back of his hand, trying to get any remaining potion off his lips. He'd need a liter of pumpkin juice to wash out that taste.

"And this one should take care of that bug," she said, handing him the remaining potion. Harry wanted to tell her he needed a minute to let the last potion settle, but he decided he'd rather just get this over with. Taking the cup, he gulped down the potion as fast as he could, even going so far as to pinch his nose closed so he didn't have to smell it.

"That was rank," Harry coughed as he handed back the goblet.

Despite the unpleasant experience of the potions, he did start to feel almost instantly better. The nausea lifted and the dizziness started to fade. He was glad for it, because he was starting to think he'd rather be hit with the Cruciatus curse than deal with that nausea any longer.

"Just sit there for a few more moments, dear," Pomfrey instructed as she gathered up the used goblets and disappeared into the back room again. _'Not bloody likely,_ ' he thought as he watched her retreating back and as soon as she was out of sight, he stood up and walked out of the infirmary. He didn't want to be in there any longer than necessary, and he was already feeling exponentially better.

When he found Ron and Hermione, they were sitting in the common room, talking to one another. Harry walked over to them and sat down in one of the big armchairs directly across them. They both looked over at him, and just by the expressions on their faces, he could already see the plethora of questions they were about to slam him with.

"Harry! How are you feeling? Did you go to Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione asked immediately. Harry resisted the urge to laugh at the girl. She hadn't even given him two seconds to get comfortable.

"Yeah, she gave me some potions and I already feel loads better," Harry explained, easing any further worries his two friends might have had. If he didn't know better, he would have thought they'd never seen someone with the flu before.

Hermione looked relieved and Ron grinned at him. "Good on you, mate," he said. "Up for a game of chess before our next lesson, then?"

"I don't know if I feel like suffering horrible defeat today," Harry said. "Oh and Hermione, could I borrow your notes from Charms later? I didn't get all them all considering I was feeling unwell."

"Of course, Harry," Hermione nodded. Normally she would chastise him for being lazy and careless with his studies, but it seemed she sympathized with his situation this time.

"Now, how about that game? I'll go easy on you," Ron said as he took out his favorite chess set and set it on the table. Harry figured he had no choice in the matter, so he just chuckled and slid closer to the board.

"Alright, alright, you're on."


	3. Chapter 3

Blurs of gold and red whipped past Harry as he flew across the Quidditch pitch, eyes darting in every direction as he attempted to spot a flutter of gold wings within the flurry of movement. It was their first practice session of the season, and as Captain, Harry decided they needed some high intensity training to whip them back into shape. He had split them up into two teams so they could play a mock game against each other. Harry had chosen Ginny to go up against him as Seeker, considering she had reasonable experience with the position, and they were currently locked in a race to see who could catch the snitch first.

Despite their history together, there was no awkwardness between the two of them. If anything, they were better friends now than they had been before. They were able to engage in friendly competition without any negative feelings towards one another. In fact, whenever Ginny flew past him, she would shoot him a grin that clearly meant she was enjoying challenging him.

Swerving around Dean Thomas and ducking under Demelza Robins, Harry pulled ahead of Ginny, his Quidditch robes flapping in the wind from the speed he was flying at. His hands gripped the handle of his broom tightly as he pulled himself upward, raising higher into the sky so he could get a better vantage point. He stopped mid-air, eyes darting around the Quidditch pitch.

That was when he saw it. A faint glimmer of gold hovering just above the goal posts. He immediately took off, his heart thumping with adrenaline. He knew Ginny must have spotted it too, because she was tailing right behind him. Still, he managed to keep the lead in the chase for the Snitch, and he stretched his arm out, preparing to grab it as soon as he got close enough. However, a large figure flew right in front of him before he could, causing him to yell out in fright as images of Death Eaters flashed through his mind. Looping backwards on his broom to avoid collision, Harry tried to calm his frantically beating heart as he looked around the field.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Ginny asked with concern as she stopped right next to him.

Harry soon came to the realization that the 'Death Eater' had only been Jimmy Peakes knocking back a bludger. Swallowing hard and feeling foolish, he nodded his head at Ginny, trying to give a reassuring smile. Judging by the continued expression of worry on her face, he had failed miserably. "Yeah, sorry, just got startled that's all."

She raised her brows slightly at him and Harry could tell that she suspected he wasn't being entirely truthful. Fortunately, she did not pry any further and Harry was given a moment to assess his team. Ron was hovering near the goal posts, looking directly at Harry and mouthing the words 'are you okay?' at him. Harry nodded and lifted his hand to wave at him, but a terrible throbbing pain suddenly shot through his shoulder and traveled the length of his collar bone. Wincing and choking back a sound of pain, Harry hunched forward on his broom and grabbed hold of it tightly, breathing hard.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Ginny asked again, not missing the obvious pain he was in.

"Yeah just-ah!" Harry let out a strangled cry as his collar bone gave another harsh throb. Hand flying up to his shoulder, Harry squeezed his eyes shut and nearly slumped right off his broom. Steadying himself, he focused on the task of getting to the ground, not wanting to risk taking a fall at this height.

"Harry! What's going on?" Ron called to him as he sped over.

"I dunno, my shoulder is really hurting, I need to get to the ground," Harry said, his voice a bit thick and strained from the effort of talking through the pain. Ginny and Ron both flanked Harry's sides as they made for the ground, preparing to catch him should he slide off his broom in either direction. Fortunately, no such incident occurred.

When his feet touched the ground, Harry dropped his broom and nearly took a tumble right along with it. Ron was there to steady him, though, placing a hand on his arm. It took everything Harry had to keep from crying out as the pain in his clavicle got worse. He could only describe it as a stabbing, burning ache that traveled through his bones. It was a feeling he'd definitely list in the top ten worst pains he'd ever experienced.

"We should get you to Madam Pomfrey," Ginny said, grabbing hold of Harry's other arm gently. Harry, who had been distracted by his shoulder, tensed slightly from the touch and instinctively jerked away, his demeanor immediately on the defensive. Ginny snapped her hand back, her eyes widening a bit in surprise at his reaction. He felt very stupid, just then. Why did he keep thinking everything around him was going to hurt him? He was acting irrational and it wouldn't be long before everyone thought he was some kind of lunatic.

"No, I'm alright, I think I just pulled a muscle, it'll be fine," Harry said quickly, leaving out the fact that it felt more like his bones were hurting, not his muscles. They did not need to know those details, though, so he remained firm with his stance on the matter. He'd rather get his arm ripped off than suffer through another visit to the hospital wing. It was only a short while later that the rest of the team joined them on the ground, a lot of them appearing a bit confused as to what was going on.

Harry knew he needed to divert the situation before any more people started asking him questions.

"Alright, good job out there, everyone. That's it for today's practice, we'll pick up again in a couple of days," Harry informed them, leaning over to grab up his broom. Not waiting for a reply, and trying not to make obvious that he was in a hurry, Harry began walking across the grounds. When he was finally out of sight, he stumbled against a wall and stuffed his fist into his mouth, biting into his knuckles to stifle the cry of pain he nearly let out. He was sure that his teeth had torn his knuckles apart by the time the pain passed into a dull, but bearable throb.

Releasing a shaky breath, Harry wiped away some sweat that had gathered on his forehead. With his hand on his shoulder again, he began lightly rubbing the aching area, his mind running with a singular question.

_'What is going on?'_

xxxxx

"I don't even know why we're bothering with NEWT courses anyway," Ron groaned as he slouched over the enormous stack of books and parchment on the table. "We defeated You-Know-Who! We could get any job we wanted!"

"That's no excuse to slack off," Hermione replied, her eyes never leaving her textbook and her quill zipping across a piece of parchment at the speed of light. Harry had spent a good portion of his time trying follow its movements, but even his Seeker trained eyes could not keep up with it.

"Considering there aren't many people who could make that claim, I think it's a pretty darn good excuse," Ron pointed out. He was still bemoaning the fact that they'd been holed up in the library for literally hours revising. Hermione made sure neither of the boys even so much as thought of leaving, all the while reminding them about NEWTs and 'academic responsibility.'

"So, what, are you going to walk into the Ministry one day and just say 'Hi, I helped defeat You-Know-Who. I'd like a job as auror please,'?" Hermione arched a brow, finally looking up at Ron.

"Sounds pretty good to me, don't you think, Harry?"

Harry had spent pretty much the whole time in the library drawing random doodles on his parchment instead of doing any actual work. He was just adding a few last touches to a drawing of a dragon when Ron spoke to him, making Harry look up.

"If it works for you, go for it, mate," Harry replied, shrugging his shoulders and smiling in amusement. "I'd personally rather not bring anymore attention to the whole Voldemort thing. I get enough as it is."

"See, Harry has a good head on his shoulder," Hermione waved her quill feather at Ron pointedly. "He isn't going to ride through life on his fame. He's going to work hard, isn't that right, Harry?"

"Er," Harry started, his eyes turning down to the parchment that SHOULD have an essay on it, but instead was covered corner to corner with doodles. He coughed as he tried to shuffle it away under another stack of parchments so Hermione wouldn't see it. "Yeah, right, definitely."

His efforts were in vain, though, because Hermione reached over and grabbed the parchment right out from under him. "Oh, honestly, I don't know what I'm going to do with you t-is that supposed to be me?"

Ron snatched the parchment from Hermione next and burst out laughing the instant he looked at it. One of the drawings was a very, _very_ amateur stick figure with a head about three times too large, a strangely proportioned body, and very bushy hair. It was also carrying a book.

"There's no mistaking it, 'Mione, that's definitely you," Ron said, wiping away a couple tears of laughter. "You have a true talent, Harry."

Hermione just crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, glaring at Ron. "Go ahead, laugh it up, Ronald. It's obvious you didn't notice that Harry drew you as well."

Ron glanced down at the parchment again and his eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "Argh! Harry, my nose is NOT that big."

Hermione made a noise that sounded like a choked laugh, but she attempted to keep her face straight. "I dunno, Ron. It looks on scale to me."

"No way! He didn't even capture my chiseled jawline or devilishly handsome face correctly," Ron said before turning to Harry and pointing at him accusingly. "See what you and your art has caused!"

Harry just held up his hands, trying his best to look innocent. "Don't know what you're talking about, mate."

Ron sighed and tossed the drawing over his shoulder, seemingly already over it. "Well, now we know Harry can't draw to save his life."

"Or write an essay," Hermione added in.

"Ouch, that stung," Harry said, but he was laughing. His laughter was cut short, however, when a loud bang caused him to jump and whirl around in his chair, now on high alert. He relaxed when he saw that it was just a fourth year Hufflepuff who'd accidentally dropped a large tome onto the ground.

Turning back around, he saw that both Ron and Hermione were currently trying to appear as if they hadn't seen that. After so many months of it, they were becoming used to Harry's jumpy behavior, and also knew quite well that he did not like anyone bringing attention to it.

"So, are you still going to try to be an auror, Harry?" Hermione asked after a lapse of silence. She seemed to opt for backtracking to their earlier conversation in order to break the awkwardness of the moment.

A 'yes' sat at the tip of his tongue, but something made Harry pause and hold it back. Now that he was thinking about it, he really wasn't sure what he wanted to be. For the past seven years, he had lived his life based on the knowledge that he could be killed at any given moment. _Everything_ he'd done had revolved around that one fact. He honestly hadn't expected to make it to seventeen, let alone adulthood. Now that those fears were no longer a weight on his future, he was free to pursue anything he wanted. He could be _anyone_ , not just the Boy-Who-Lived or the Chosen One.

"I'm not sure," he decided to settle with. Here he was with the opportunity to shed his past identities and begin anew, yet he was hesitating. He found he was doing that a lot lately, stopping before he even got started. It was partially due to the fact he was still wrestling with the idea that he wasn't even supposed to be there in the first place. How many times could a single person cheat death before it started to feel like a joke? In all honesty, he probably _should_ have died in that battle and he was now taking up a space in life that didn't even belong to him.

_'Why is that life made more sense when Voldemort was around?''_

"Well, I'm sure if you earn enough NEWTs, you can get into pretty much any career you wanted," Hermione assured him, seeming to understand that Harry wasn't in a place for making big decisions just yet. "The fact that you're Harry Potter doesn't hurt, either."

"Oy! That's what I said," Ron huffed, flicking a piece of crumpled up parchment off the table in annoyance. "I can never be right even when I'm right, can I?"

"Nope," Hermione grinned. Ron just blinked at her before laughing and leaning over to give his girlfriend an affectionate kiss.

"Now I remember why I like you," he said.

"So, then, remind me again why I like you?" Hermione responded with a playful grin.

"Because you like kissing me," Ron answered and as if to emphasize this point, he kissed her again.

Harry averted his eyes, taking a sudden interest in the corner of the ceiling. He never knew what was the proper thing to do when your best friends started kissing right in front of you. He couldn't imagine a situation where that wasn't just plain awkward and uncomfortable. Fortunately, Ron and Hermione left it to a quick peck, and Harry was saved the embarrassment of witnessing another snog session.

The three of them fell into another stretch of silence as they went back to their studying. Well, Hermione did. Ron seemed more focused on making paper airplanes out of parchment and Harry was absently flipping through his DADA textbook. Despite it being his favorite subject, he could not will himself to even feign interest in the words printed on the pages. He'd never been what one would call a 'great' student in the first place, but it seemed like his mind was more absent than usual that year. He supposed, in a way, he was battling with a 'what's the point?' mentality over schooling. He'd never say that to Hermione, of course, because she'd probably give him a ten foot long list of exactly what 'the point' was.

"Brilliant," Hermione sighed in frustration, causing Harry to look over to her. "I forgot my notes from the last Transfiguration lecture. Harry, could I borrow yours?"

"Sure, Hermione," Harry said. He leaned over to his bag on the floor and opened it up, digging around until he found the correct notes. They were a bit rumpled from being shoved carelessly into his bag, and his handwriting was barely legible, but Hermione would just have to make due. Sitting up straight, Harry handed them across the table to her. "Here you go."

However, Hermione did not take them from him, instead she was staring at him and blinking. This left Harry feeling confused and a little self conscious.

"What?" he asked.

"Your nose is bleeding, Harry," Hermione replied, gesturing towards his face.

It was then that Harry took notice of that fact that several blots of blood were dripping onto his book and seeping into the pages. Quickly bringing his hand up to his nose, he began wiping at it. When he pulled it back, he saw that the side of his hand was smeared in bright, red blood.

Transfiguring a piece of parchment into a handkerchief, Hermione handed it to him. "Here, use this."

"Thanks," Harry said, taking it from her and pressing it against his nose to staunch the stream of blood. He was starting to feel a bit dizzy just then, and he wondered if it was possible for nosebleeds to cause such severe lightheadedness.

"That was the most random nosebleed I've ever seen," Ron said, appearing kind of in awe. "One second, you were fine, then the next it was like, GOOSH."

"Yes, thank you for that detailed retailing of Harry's nosebleed, Ron," Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head. Harry just snickered from behind his handkerchief.

"Has it stopped yet?" Hermione now turned back to him. Harry pulled the cloth away from his face and saw that a good portion of it was now covered in his blood. Sniffing a bit, he wiped at his nose a couple more times to check for fresh blood.

"I think so," he replied when he saw none, rubbing at his nose some more.

"Perhaps you should go wash your face, then," Hermione suggested. "You've got blood smeared all over it."

Flushing a little, Harry covered the lower part of his face with his hand and nodded in agreement. Pushing his chair back, he got up and hurried out of the library as fast as he could without catching anyone's attention. Once he got to the bathroom, he went over to one of the sinks and turned on the tap. Sticking his hands under the stream of water, Harry finally glanced up at the mirror and was a bit surprised to see how pale he looked. The blood all over his face was eerily contrast against the almost deathly pallor of his skin.

Taking off his glasses, he leaned over and tarted splashing water onto his face, rubbing at it aggressively to clear off the blood. When he brought his head back up, his reflection was now soaking wet, water dripping from his hair and rolling down his face in rivulets. The important thing, though, was that he'd successfully cleaned off all of the blood.

Pressing his glasses back on, Harry was about to leave when a wave of dizziness hit him again. It came on so suddenly and intensely that Harry could no longer distinguish which way was up and which way was down. Gripping onto the sink to keep himself from falling, he leaned all of his weight against it and tried to focus on breathing until the dizzy spell passed. He couldn't even close his eyes because all it did was make him feel like he was spinning. When the sensation finally subsided, he was left feeling shaky and weak.

At first, he wasn't sure if he would be able to make it back to the library in his current state. The way his mind kept fading in out and out of darkness made Harry afraid to let go of the sink in fear of falling over and passing out. However, after adamantly deciding he did not want to have to be rescued from the bathroom of all places, he willed himself to start walking.

The walk back to the library was slow going, seeing as his legs were tired and shaky and his vision kept turning dark on him at random intervals. He didn't know how many times he had to stop and take a break, but to Harry it felt like it must have been every couple of minutes. When he finally made it to the table Ron and Hermione were at, he just sunk down into his chair with relief.

"Did you try to drown yourself in the sink?" Ron asked, eyeing Harry's soppy hair and damp uniform with curiosity. He probably looked like he just dunked his whole head into a sink full of water.

"Something like that," Harry laughed. Turning to Hermione now, he saw that she was quiet and studying him rather sagaciously. This made Harry's stomach sink because he recognized that look quite well. It meant that she knew something was up and she was trying to figure out what it was. Though Harry felt it was nothing serious, he knew if Hermione were to find out that he was not feeling well again, she would most likely worry unnecessarily. He really _hated_ when people worried about him. To him, it was no different than all of the attention given to him as the world's savior.

"Are you feeling better?" Hermione asked him after awhile. Harry was trembling uncontrollably, his collar bone was throbbing again and his head was swimming from nausea and fatigue. Yet, he still smiled.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Hermione."


	4. Chapter 4

Harry peeled his eyes open, his blurry vision staring straight up at the canopy of his bed. Slowly, his thoughts started to return from the haze of sleep, images of last night's nightmare still lingering in his mind. It had been a replay of a jet of green light coming towards him over and over. He'd probably died in his dream at least twenty times before he'd finally woken up. Bringing a hand up to rub at his face, he noticed that he was covered in sweat again, his skin slick and his clothing and bedding damp with it. His chest rose and fell unevenly as he tried to breathe away the nausea that was creeping in on him, but Harry eventually rolled out of bed and stumbled into the dorm bathrooms.

Despite not having his glasses, he found his way there with only a little trouble and dropped down in front of one of the toilets. His whole body wracked with violent heaves as the remainder of last night's dinner hit the water, his fingers gripping at the toilet so hard his hands were shaking. When it was finally over, he spat up the last bits of the foul tasting bile and dropped back onto his butt, panting heavily. Wiping at his mouth, Harry slowly laid down on the bathroom floor, resting his head against the cool tile and closing his eyes. He didn't know why he didn't just get up and move back to his bed, but he decided the floor felt nice just then.

It seemed only a few minutes later when he was awakened by the sounds of loud voices, and Harry just lay there for a minute, listening to them get closer. The rest of the house must have woken up by now and with the realization they were going to be needing the bathrooms soon, Harry slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. Leaning over and flushing the toilet, he then hauled himself up and walked back out into the dorm room.

He saw that the rest of his dorm mates were now up and getting changed, talking energetically to one another. Going over to his trunk, Harry pulled out his uniform and started to do the same.

"Jeez, Harry, what does the other guy look like?" Dean asked him after he pulled off his shirt, causing Harry to jolt out of his stupor.

"Huh?" he asked in confusion.

"Your bruises, mate," Dean clarified, indicating to Harry's torso with his eyes. "It looks like you got into a fight."

Harry noticed that Dean's words had caught Ron's attention, who was now looking over at him with a frown. Confused, Harry looked down to see what Dean was on about and was surprised to find a large bruise on the side of his torso and several ones of varying sizes littering his arms. Using his other hand, he gently prodded a couple of them and winched at how tender they felt. How had he not noticed those? Better yet, how had he gotten them in the first place?

"Must have been from practice," Harry replied with a shrug, though he couldn't recall taking any hits from bludgers or getting into any collisions. He quickly buttoned up his shirt to hide the bruises, not comfortable with the whole dorm gawking at him. Fortunately, the conversation turned onto Quidditch after that.

"I can't wait for the first game, we're going to cream the Slytherins," Ron declared over-confidently, punching his fist into his hand.

"Don't get too cocky, Ron," Harry said while putting his tie on. "Otherwise, your giant head might keep you from getting your broom off the ground."

"I do not have a giant head!" Ron huffed.

"Dean? Dean? Where are you? I can't see you over Ron's giant head!" Harry pretended to look around Ron. "Oh, bugger, he's lost forever."

"You're not as funny as you think you are, Harry," Ron said, chucking one of his pillows at Harry's head. Harry only just managed to duck away before it hit him, and there was a muffled grunt as it smacked Seamus in the face instead. Harry and Ron both paused for a second and met each other's eyes before bursting out into laughter.

"Hey, watch where you're throwing things!" Seamus said, though he was also laughing as he tossed the pillow back to Ron.

"Sorry, Seamus," Ron replied as he put his pillow back in its proper place. Harry, who was suddenly feeling lightheaded from all the laughter, had to grab onto the bed post to keep himself steady. He suddenly felt really hot and he had to resist the urge to strip immediately out of his clothes. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he even felt a drop roll down his neck and chest.

"Earth to Harry," Ron's voice cut through his dizzy spell and Harry looked up, eyebrows furrowed. How long had Ron been trying to get his attention?

"What's that, Ron?" Harry asked, wincing at the slight quiver in his voice despite his efforts at keeping it as normal as possible.

"I asked if you're ready to go meet Hermione and head down to breakfast," Ron explained, though he was looking at Harry a bit oddly now. Ron often seemed thick, but Harry knew that he was incredibly perceptive and he always knew when something was off, especially with Harry.

Harry, whose stomach was rolling at the mere mention of food, thought he'd rather die than have to sit through another meal. Most of the time it was just him staring at his food, trying not to vomit from the smell of it and Hermione nagging him about not eating enough. Meal times had once been something he used to look forward to, but now they were just a hassle.

"You go on ahead, Ron," Harry said. "I'm not very hungry this morning."

"How can you not be hungry?" Ron questioned with the slightest rise of pitch in his voice. "You barely touched your tea last night, same for lunch and breakfast. You're not going Anorexic on me, are you?"

Harry couldn't help but snort at that. Leave it Ron to think a few skipped meals instantly equaled Anorexia. "Well, you know me, always watching my figure."

"Yeah, well, at this rate you won't have a figure, you'll just be a stick," Ron said, eyeing Harry up and down. "Actually, never mind, you're already there."

"Like you can talk! You're like the very definition of a bean pole," Harry retorted as he slipped his robes on.

"If by 'bean pole' you mean 'lean and athletic', then you're absolutely right, Harry," Ron said but Harry just choked back a laugh. While Ron had filled out a little more than Harry had, he was still tall and lanky.

"Ah, right, yeah. I'm always mixing those words up."

Harry gathered up his satchel and his course books once he was finished getting ready. As they walked out into the common room, however, Ron turned serious again. "Honestly, though, has everything been...okay, lately?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, though he knew exactly what Ron meant and it made his heart twang in his chest. He really did not want to have this conversation right now. If Harry told Ron anything, Ron would tell Hermione and then they'd bout hound him mercilessly until he finally caved and went to Madam Pomfrey. The mere thought of that made him cringe.

"You just don't seem yourself," Ron said as they both walked over to one of the couches and sat down while they waited for Hermione. "I can tell when you're putting up a front to hide something, you know."

They'd both known each other for such a long time, and had been through so much together, that Harry figured there was actually very little he could hide from the red-head. Ron just knew his mannerisms, his tells, and his expressions far too well. He was probably able to read Harry even better than Hermione was. It was both a rare blessing, and an annoying curse to have a friend like that.

"It's nothing, really," Harry said, twisting the sleeve of his robe into a knot absently. "Just been a bit under the weather."

He figured if he told part of the truth, Ron might drop it and they could move on with their lives. No worry, no fuss.

"Is it still that flu?" Ron asked, raising a brow. "I thought Madam Pomfrey gave you something for that."

"She did, but I think it's just a really nasty one. I'm sure it'll pass in a couple more days."

"I s'pose," Ron said, though he looked dubious at best. "Just, you know, take care of yourself, okay?"

"Yes, mum," Harry replied teasingly but there was an underlying tone of assurance as well.

"Besides, can you imagine the headlines? 'Savior of the wizarding world snuffed out by flu'?" Ron added, cracking a grin at him. "Not very fitting for the Chosen One."

"Out of all of the headlines written about me, I'd say that'd only be number 15 on the worst list," Harry replied.

"What're you two talking about?" Hermione appeared behind them suddenly, causing both Ron and Harry to jump.

"Nothing, Hermione," Harry said with a laugh, turning around in so he could look up at the girl.

"About time you showed up, I thought I was going to starve to death," Ron said, springing to his feet and gathering up his things. Harry, however, remained in his seat.

"Aren't you coming to breakfast?" Hermione asked, noticing that Harry was still sitting.

"Nah, I'm going to stay here and finish up a bit of homework before lessons," Harry answered, waving his hand at them. "You two go on, I'll catch up later, okay?"

Hermione gave him a bit of a look, but just nodded her head. Harry supposed the idea of him doing homework was the sole reason she wasn't arguing with him. "Alright, we'll see you at lessons, then?"

Harry smiled at his friends as the two of them walked out of the common room. The rest of the house had already trickled out by now as well, so he was left alone and in the silence. Feeling a bit chilly now despite how hot he'd been earlier, Harry used his wand to bring the fireplace to life and got comfortable on the couch. Dropping one of his books onto the table, he opened it up to the section he'd been working on the night before and took out a roll of parchment. He hadn't been paying attention as he unfurled the parchment, and he hissed in surprise when he accidentally sliced his finger on the edge of the parchment.

Immediately bringing it up to his mouth, he sucked on it for a few moments and then brought it back out to inspect the cut. There seemed to be more blood seeping out of the cut than he would have expected from such a small wound. It was running down his finger in a steady stream and dripped onto his homework in a splattering of droplets. Realizing this, Harry cursed to himself and stood up, taking his wand out of his back pocket and healing the cut with a quick spell. Next, he used another spell to clean the blood off his of his hand and homework.

Sighing, he plopped back down and grabbed up his quill so he could pick up taking notes where he'd left off, trying his best to ignore the way his vision kept blurring in and out.

xxxxx

Flushing the toilet, Harry went over to the sink and washed his mouth out, the sour taste of vomit still lingering on his tongue. His reflection looked pale, sweaty and gaunt. He tried to ignore the inkling of concern he was starting to feel, reminding himself that it was just the flu and he was being paranoid. Despite that, he promised himself he'd go see Madam Pomfrey at the end of the day if he wasn't feeling any better by then.

When there was the sound of a door slamming shut behind him, Harry flinched but forced himself not to turn around. He needed to stop reacting to every little sound like it was a Death Eater coming after him. He was at Hogwarts, Voldemort was dead, most of his followers had been captured, he was perfectly safe. Sometimes he found it tragically funny that he was more afraid of Voldemort now than he'd been when he was _alive_. After realizing that he was gripping the sink so hard that his knuckles had turned white, he slowly released his hold and allowed feeling to creep back into his fingers.

"Hey, Harry."

At the voice in his ear, Harry jumped away with a small cry of surprise, his hand whipping around to his back pocket as if going for his wand. However, it paused there when he saw that it was only Neville. His shoulders slumped and his arm relaxed at his side.

"Bloody hell, Neville," Harry said, letting out a deep sigh, his adrenaline still pumping.

"Sorry, did I scare you?" Neville asked, his eyes wide with concern.

"No, just surprised me," Harry replied, forcing a smile onto his face, trying to ignore the flush of embarrassment was crawling up his neck at that moment.

Harry was perfectly aware of the way Neville's eyes were scanning over his appearance, obviously taking in how pale and shaky he was. "Everything okay, Harry?"

_'Ah, the question of the day.'_

"Yeah, just got a touch of the flu, it's been kicking my arse for a couple of days now," Harry responded, dismissing the question with a laugh. He must really look awful if so many people were commenting on it now.

"Oh, okay. Well, are you heading to Defence lessons now?" Neville asked, smiling at Harry. If there was one thing Harry appreciated about Neville, it was that he knew how to mind his own business.

"Yeah, I was just finishing up in here." Harry bent over to pick up the bag he'd dropped to the floor and slung it over his shoulder. After standing straight, it took at least half a minute for the black spots appearing in his vision to clear away. He had to use all of his willpower not to reach out for the sink to hold onto.

"Mind if I walk with you?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry said without protest. He just hoped that he didn't pass out on the walk over, the last thing he wanted was for Neville to be worrying over him too.

The short journey to the classroom was spent with mostly idle chit-chat. They covered topics such as NEWTs and what Neville was planning on doing after graduating Hogwarts. The fact that Neville had a pretty solid idea of his career path made Harry feel even worse over the fact that he still had no idea what he was going to do. He knew that he wasn't the _only_ student who didn't have everything figured out yet, but considering he was some great hero who couldn't even figure out what kind of job he wanted, Harry felt like a bit of a failure.

By the time they arrived in the Defence classroom, it was already filled with students. The professor literally walked in five seconds after they had, meaning he and Neville had only just made it in time. They found Ron and Hermione sitting near the back of the room, so they made their way over to them. Neville took the seat beside Hermione and Harry moved to take the one next to Ron, but his steps slowed when the room started to swirl right before his eyes. He didn't realize how long he had just been standing there until he felt Ron tugging at his the sleeve of his robe in an attempt to get him to sit down.

"Mr. Potter, is there a problem?" the professor asked him from somewhere near the front of the classroom.

Harry just blinked slowly a few times, the professor's voice sounding garbled like it was coming from underneath water. His heartbeat sounded far too loud to be normal and he vaguely wondered if it had somehow moved outside his chest. The ground felt as if it was tilting underneath him and a hot prickling sensation started at the base of his skull and spread through the rest of his head, causing darkness to crawl over his vision. His books slipped out of his hold, and he didn't realize that his body started swaying until it was too late to stop himself from crumpling to the ground.

There was the sound of several people jumping out of their seats and rushing over to him. He thought he could just make out the sound of Ron's and Hermione's voices among the rest, calling to him in panic and fear. Feeling guilty, Harry wanted to apologize to them for causing so much worry, but he was not even sure what direction their voices were coming from. Everything sounded like it was getting father away, and his body felt like it was being pulled downward, sinking into the darkness.

 _'I'll apologize to them properly when I wake up,'_ was the last thing Harry thought before he fell into unconsciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

Blinding white light was the first thing that Harry became aware of when he opened his eyes. He immediately had to shut them again and squeezed tightly against the brightness. He opened them again slowly and allowed them time to adjust to this time. The room steadily swirled into focus and his head started to throb painfully. Bringing his hand up to his forehead, he groaned and tried to push himself into a sitting position. It was no good, though, because the dizziness forced him right back down. A sense of panic started to settle over him when he realized he didn't know where he was or what had happened before getting there. For a brief moment, he was seized with one horrifying thought: had Death Eaters caught him?

 _'Of course they hadn't, don't be stupid,"_ Harry had to tell himself rationally despite every muscle in his body tensing with the urge to run.

Taking a deep breath, he turned his head to the side and saw Ron sitting in a chair beside his bed, head leaned back and mouth open as he snored, clearly asleep. He felt relief flood him at the sight of his best friend, and all of his anxiety from a second ago completely melted away. Next he became aware of something touching his hand. Looking to the other side of his bed, he saw Hermione slouched over the edge, her eyes closed and her hand brushing against Harry's.

His confusion started to mount. Quickly sweeping his eyes across the room, he immediately recognized that he was in the infirmary. He tried to bring up memories of what had happened prior to waking up there, but no matter how desperately he dug through his brain, he could not remember. His memories were so broken and jumbled that he couldn't even recall what day it was. Carefully, he he moved his hand away from Hermione's and reached for his glasses, but this only succeeded in stirring the girl from her sleep. Her eyes blinked open and she sat up immediately at noticing Harry was now awake.

"Harry! How are you feeling?" she asked hurriedly, rubbing sleep out of her eyes and moving closer to the bed.

Her words caused Ron to suddenly jerk awake next, head snapping up and bleary blue eyes looking around the room in confusion.

"Wasgoinon?" he mumbled. Shaking his head clear, his eyes widened a bit when he saw Harry. Hopping up from his chair, he moved to stand on the other side of Harry's bed. "Hey, mate, how're you feeling? You gave us a right scare, you prat!"

Harry slowly attempted to push himself back up into a sitting position again. Hermione seemed to notice that he was having trouble, because she placed her hand on his back and helped ease him up. He flashed a weak smile at her and pushed his fringe out of his face, trying not to grimace at how sweaty his hair felt.

"Sorry," Harry said, his voice hoarse and thick. His throat felt like it was sticking together and he tried to swallow to clear it, but it was about as easy as swallowing cotton balls. Ron quickly poured Harry a glass of water and handed it to him. He took it gratefully and started gulping it down quickly, feeling relief as the cool liquid slid down his dry throat. However, the relief was short lived when the water hit his empty stomach, making it gurgle and churn. He had to continuously swallow down the urge to vomit up the water.

Hermione took the glass from him when he was finished and set it on the side table. Harry tried not to look directly into her face because, just from the corners of his eyes, he could already see the way her eyebrows were knitted together with concern.

"That must be some killer flu," Ron said as he sat down on the edge of Harry's bed, causing the mattress to dip down slightly.

"What exactly happened?" Harry asked, his voice still a little rough but much better than before.

"You passed out, mate," Ron answered. "You went all pale and shaky and then suddenly you were on the ground. It was bloody scary."

That was when memories of what happened started to come back to him. He recalled Neville, the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom, Ron and Hermione calling out to him in worry, and then finally darkness. He groaned in embarrassment, knowing that news of him fainting during lessons had probably already spread through the school. Why did things that were sure to cause an ungodly amount of attention always happen to him?

"How long have I been out?" he asked next.

"About five hours," Hermione responded, now chewing on her bottom lip. "We were starting to get worried that you were slipping into a coma."

Harry blinked at that information, hardly able to believe he'd been out for that long. "Have you guys been here the entire time?"

"Of course we have, we had to make sure you weren't going to croak," Ron answered.

"Oh, Ron, don't say such things," Hermione admonished, rolling her eyes. "We knew you weren't going to die, Harry."

Harry just laughed, but when it started to make him feel lightheaded, he immediately stopped and took a breath. When his head cleared, he glanced between Ron and Hermione. "So, when can I get out of here?"

Ron and Hermione shared a look at that, which made Harry immediately wary. It was Hermione who worked up the courage to bear the bad news. "Listen, Harry. Madam Pomfrey wants to keep you at least over night."

"What?!" Harry sputtered. "You've got to be kidding me, over the flu?"

"Harry, you passed out," Hermione said calmly, though once Harry was already worked up, it was near impossible to placate him; a fact Hermione was well aware of. "You were unconscious for _five_ hours. It's only to make sure you're really alright."

"We know you hate the hospital wing and all," Ron said, patting Harry on the shoulder. "But it's only for one night, you can tough it out."

Harry wanted to fight the matter more, but judging by both the looks on his friends' faces and the increasing dizziness coming on, he decided he just didn't have it in him to argue right then. Releasing an annoyed sigh, Harry plopped back against his pillows and folded his arms over his chest.

"Alright, but I'm out of here by morning," he said, glaring at his blankets as if this were somehow their fault. "I don't care if I have to bust out."

"You are the biggest drama queen I have ever met in my life," Ron said, half exasperated, half amused by Harry's behavior; it was rather typical, after all. Harry was about to retort with some witty (aka childish) remark when his stomach suddenly gave a violent heave and the taste of bile crawled up his throat. Eyes widening, he scrabbled to throw the blankets off of him, only to end up having to roll to his side and puke over the side of the bed.

Fingers digging into the mattress, Harry coughed and gasped for breath between each heave, the clear, watery vomit hitting the floor with audible splashes. Tears burned at his eyes and his nose was dripping by the time it was all over. His arms were trembling weakly and he almost couldn't find the strength to push himself onto his back again. However, he felt a pair of cool hands on his arms, which helped him turn over into a lying position. Someone softly muttered a cleaning incantation and he could only assume it was to get rid of the vomit pooling on the floor. Still panting, he opened his tear-blurred vision and saw Hermione standing over him.

"Are you okay, Harry?" she asked, and Harry could tell that she was trying not to sound as worried as she looked. "Do you want some more water?"

Harry quickly shook his head, his stomach still burning and clenching too painfully for him to take anything else in yet. The last thing he wanted to do was endure a second round of vomiting. He kept his lips tightly sealed for several minutes longer just in case his stomach decided to rebel at random again.

"Good to see you awake, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey suddenly said from beside him. At first, he was surprised to see the matron standing there, but it quickly became obvious that Ron, at some point, had run off to get her.

"Do I really have to stay here all night?" Harry blurted out, feeling his earlier indignation returning.

Pomfrey arched her brow at him and handed him a goblet full of what appeared to be a potion "Yes, now quit your complaining and drink this. It will help with your nausea."

Normally Harry would have resisted taking one of Pomfrey's potions as much as possible, but simply recalling how much better he felt after the last time, he readily accepted it. He was gulping it down so fast that quite a bit of it dribbled from the corner of his mouth and down his chin. When he was finished, he noticed that the other three occupants were now looking at him with surprise.

"What?" he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Already, the nausea was easing and a warm sensation was spreading from his stomach to the rest of his body.

"I think that's the first time I've ever seen you drink a potion without complaint," Ron said in awe.

"Well, you would too if you've spent half the day puking out your brains," Harry pointed out, releasing the goblet when Pomfrey took it from him.

"Well, I must say, it's nice to see you being a cooperative patient for once," she said approvingly as she vanished the empty goblet. "And since you're being so compliant, perhaps we should get the examination out of the way now?"

"Examination?" Harry repeated, sitting up straight again.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, an examination," Pomfrey sighed. "It won't take but a minute."

Harry opened his mouth to complain about how ridiculously unnecessary an examination was, but at seeing the look Pomfrey was giving him, he begrudgingly shut it again. Feeling he had no choice but to agree, he just nodded his head unhappily.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, perhaps you should go back to your lessons now?" Pomfrey suggested as she starting moving the curtain to block Harry's bed from view. Hermione and Ron both hesitated at that, looking to Harry as if they were unsure about leaving him there.

"Don't worry, you two, I'll be fine," Harry said, giving the best reassuring smile he could manage. "There's really no point in you hanging around here all day, watching me lay about in bed."

"True, I didn't think anything could be more boring than History of Magic lessons," Ron joked.

"Don't say things you can't take back, Ron," Harry said, mock reprimanding.

"Well, if you're sure you'll be alright, we'll be back later tonight, okay?" Hermione said as she started packing up her things to leave.

"Sure, I'll see you then," Harry said, giving a slight wave as his friends walked out of the infirmary. There was no doubt he was going to die from boredom now, but he couldn't ask his friends to miss lessons just to keep him entertained. It wouldn't surprise him if Hermione was already fretting over the two lectures she'd missed that day because of him.

"Alright, Potter, out of your shirt, if you please," Pomfrey said to him, gesturing at his clothing with her wand. After all the times Pomfrey had seen him without a shirt, Harry knew he should be used to it by now, but he still felt a flush spread over his face. Ron and Hermione were the only people Harry didn't feel self-conscious about his body with, and that was because he knew they'd never judge him for being too skinny or too pale.

Despite his reservations, he obeyed the request and started unbuttoning his shirt. Once it was off, he suddenly started shivering when the air of the room hit his flushed skin, and he had to resist the urge to complain to Pomfrey about how cold it was in there.

"Where did all of these bruises come from?" Pomfrey asked as she inspected his arms and torso. Looking down, Harry noticed that several more bruises had appeared along his arms and chest since that morning. He assumed they'd come from when he'd fainted that morning, but he couldn't recall hitting anything on his way down.

"Quidditch practice," Harry lied again. Though, he wasn't entirely _sure_ it was a lie because he honestly didn't know where they'd come from. Pomfrey just clicked her tongue at him and muttered something about reckless and dangerous sports.

"Alright, I'm going to run a quick diagnostic spell," Pomfrey said after finishing the surface examination of his body. "It'll give us more in depth results about your health."

Harry just wanted to get this ordeal over with, so he nodded his head. He continued shivering as Madam Pomfrey took out her wand and pointed it at him. Harry felt a prickling sensation just underneath his skin as she started from the top of his head and slowly moved her wand down the length of his body, only stopping at his feet. There was a quill and a piece of parchment floating near Pomfrey, writing down any findings the spell made.

"You can put your shirt back on now," Pomfrey said as she put her wand away and grabbed the piece of parchment, which was now filled with writing.

Harry didn't need to be told twice, quickly pulling his shirt back on and buttoning it up. Despite being fully clothed again, the shivering did not stop and he wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to warm up. He waited while Pomfrey read through the results, and he didn't miss the way her eyebrows kept furrowing lower and lower the farther she read down the parchment.

"Erm, everything alright?" he asked when Pomfrey didn't say anything after awhile.

Pomfrey's bewilderment was still present when she turned her attention up at Harry. After giving him a long look, she simply rolled up the parchment and vanished it. "I'm afraid I'm going to need a little longer to study these results, Mr. Potter."

"Why? What's wrong with them?" he asked, feeling his heart starting to rise into his throat.

"Don't get yourself all worked up," Pomfrey said, waving her wand so the curtains moved back into their original place and Harry's blankets were pulled up over him snugly. "I'll be back after I've looked them over again."

Harry felt a rise of frustration in his chest when Pomfrey refused to tell him what was going on. Surely, his results couldn't be that complicated? It was just supposed to be the flu! When Pomfrey left his bedside, Harry plopped back against his pillows and pulled the blankets up higher for warmth. Staring up at the ceiling, he hoped he wouldn't go completely mad in the time it took Ron and Hermione to return.

xxxxx

"We thought you might appreciate this better than hospital food," Ron said as he dropped his arm load of food right onto Harry's lap. There was an assortment of sandwiches, pork pies, cakes and pastries all laid out before him. It all smelled absolutely amazing to Harry, who hadn't eaten a proper meal in days.

"Did you guys just nick a bunch of stuff from the Great Hall to bring up here?" Harry asked with amusement. He could just imagine his friends loading their arms up with food and marching out of the Great Hall much to everyone's confusion.

"We weren't very well going to let you eat alone," Ron said as he sat down at the edge of Harry's bed again. Hermione resumed her place in the chair next to him.

"How did the examination go?" she asked him while Harry sorted through the food they'd brought.

"It was alright," he said with a shrug as he picked up a pork pie and nibbled on it carefully. When he didn't feel any immediate nausea, he took a more confident bite and chewed in earnest, delighted to be able to eat again. He could kiss Madam Pomfrey for those potions. "I'm just waiting for the results."

"You mean you haven't gotten them yet?" Hermione questioned, showing surprise.

"Nope," Harry said, setting the half-eaten pie down and going for a jam tart instead. He hadn't eaten in so long that he wanted to make sure he got a taste of everything before he got too full. He didn't know when the next time he'd be able to eat again would be, after all. "Madam Pomfrey said she needed to go over them a bit longer, or something."

"That's a bit strange," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Normally the results are instantaneous."

"Hermione, since when has anything that involves Harry gone the way it's supposed to?" Ron said, taking a big bite out of one of the sandwiches.

"He's got a point, 'Mione," Harry said, nodding and picking out a roast turkey sandwich.

"Still, you'd think she would have found out something by now," Hermione continued, taking one of the sandwiches from the pile as well. While Ron practically inhaled his, Hermione took smaller, slower bites. Harry was somewhere in the middle, taking larger bites than Hermione but not swallowing them whole like Ron.

"I bet it's some super rare disease that only famous kids with scars on their foreheads get," Ron said after swallowing a mouthful of food. "We'll call it the 'Harry Potter' disease."

"Just what I need," Harry responded. "A disease named after me."

"Well, they've already named perfumes and stuff after you."

"They've named perfumes after me?" Harry's eyes went wide in horror. This caused Ron to laugh and he heard Hermione giggle next to him.

"Nah, mate, but it's only a matter of time," Ron said. "Can't imagine what kind of scent that would be, though."

"I don't even want to talk about something so horrific," Harry said, holding up his hand to stop Ron before he could go any further. When there was another round of snickering at his expense, Harry picked up a sponge cake and chucked it at Ron's face. It bounced off of his forehead and left a smudge of cream there as it fell to the floor at his feet. Ron blinked a few times as if trying to comprehend what just happened before making a sudden leap at Harry.

That was how Madam Pomfrey found them. With Ron leaning over Harry, holding a cake just centimeters away from his face while Harry struggled to keep it away and Hermione yelling that they were making a mess everywhere. They all froze when they saw Madam Pomfrey and Ron immediately moved back into his chair, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"Er, we were just finishing our meal," Ron said and Harry had to cover his mouth to stifle a snort of laughter.

It was Hermione who'd been the first to take notice of the fact that Pomfrey had not returned alone. There was another man standing next to her."Madam Pomfrey, what's going on?"

The man was tall and thin, with greying hair and a couple day's worth of stubble growing along his chin. Judging by the state of his dress, Harry could only assume that he was a healer of sorts. The expression he was wearing was one of gravity and Harry felt his stomach twist a bit. That couldn't mean anything good.

"This is Healer Camden, he works at St. Mungo's," Pomfrey introduced the wizard. "I asked him to come here to help me with Mr. Potter's examination results."

"What do you mean? Why did you need help?" Harry asked.

"Perhaps Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger should step out while we discuss this?" Pomfrey suggested, but Harry just shook his head.

"No, I want them here," he said with certainty. Ron and Hermione were going to find out one way or another anyway. "Now, what's going on?"

"Mr. Potter," Camden stepped forward, taking over. His voice took Harry by surprise for a brief second, not having expected it to be quite so deep. "Your examination came back with some, quite frankly, baffling results."

"Baffling how?" he asked, taking a moment to glance over to his friends. Ron looked confused and Hermione was listening intently to everything Healer Camden was saying.

"Tell me, Harry, have you been experiencing any unusual symptoms?" Camden continued, seemingly disregarding Harry's question. "Fatigue, bone pain, unexplained nosebleeds, night sweats?"

Harry felt a cold dread seeping through his stomach with each symptom Camden listed off. The fact was, he'd experienced every single one of those and several others on top of them. What did that mean, though?

"That sounds a lot like..." Hermione started, but she paused and chewed on her lip again. "Are you saying that Harry has cancer?"

"Cancer?" Harry repeated, frowning. He had heard that term a few times in his life, mostly before he'd come to Hogwarts. It never sounded like anything good when people talked about it.

"That's the thing," Camden went on. "We're not entirely sure. In many ways, it appears quite similar to a form of cancer known as Leukemia. The blood cells being created in Harry's bone marrow are not reaching maturity and as a result, the immature cells have turned cancerous. The now cancerous cells are growing at a rapid rate and spilling out into his blood stream."

"It's curable by magic, though," Hermione said, looking confident in her claim. "Almost all muggle diseases are!"

"That is true," Camden nodded. "However, we are not sure if that is the case this time. While it is _similar_ to Leukemia in many ways, it is also different in many others. The progression of the disease seems much faster and more devastating than even that of Leukemia. From what we can gather, the disease is attacking the magic in Harry's blood, making him more susceptible than he'd normally be."

"Wait, what does that mean? How can it be attacking his magic?" Hermione was starting to sound a bit hysterical now.

"Well," Camden started. "The tests came back with indication that this disease was, in fact, caused by a curse, thus giving it magical properties. This could prove a problem in discovering what exactly the disease does and how to cure it."

"A curse?" Harry suddenly spoke up, pulling himself from the fog of his thoughts and looking to the healer. "What kind of curse?"

"We will need to do further testing to make a conclusive diagnosis on that," the healer said. "For now, we are going to attempt to use known magical treatments for cancer and see how you respond."

There was an odd rushing sound in Harry's ears as he tried to absorb that information. He didn't want to jump to any conclusions, but from the way the healer was talking, it sounded like Harry was very, very sick. It was almost impossible to comprehend how things went from a simple flu to well, this. Twisting the blankets in his hands, Harry looked up to notice that Camden was still talking to him. He'd barely heard a thing he'd said in the past minute or so.

"...with a round of potions that, if successful, should kill the cancerous cells in your body and allow mature, healthy cells to start growing again."

"Then he'll be better after that?" Ron asked, having been eerily quiet during most of the exchange. Harry look over at him and saw that he appeared a bit pale and sickly himself. Harry briefly wondered if cancer was contagious too, but it occurred to him a few seconds later that Ron was _concerned_. Harry's stomach sank and he wanted to say something positive to make all of this sound less serious than it really was, assure his friend that he was fine and everyone was being over dramatic, but nothing came to him. Nothing that wasn't a lie.

"At this point, this is all speculation," Camden responded. "I've never seen anything like this before, so we're basically starting from scratch in trying to cure it. We're hoping we can at least control it to the point where all Harry will have to do is continue taking potions."

"And if that doesn't work?" Harry managed to unstick his throat and speak up. There was a hanging silence in the room, and that gave Harry the answer he'd already suspected.

"Like I said, it's only speculation at this point," Camden said, appearing sympathetic. "We don't really know what will happen because yours is the first known case of this occurring."

_'Of course I'd have some special disease no one's heard of because I can't just get sick normally, can I? Maybe they really will call it the Harry Potter disease.'_

"We're already in the process of brewing a batch of potion for your first round of treatment," Camden continued on when no one else said anything. "In the mean time, we're going to run more tests on you and hopefully determine what curse caused this. If we can do that, then we can hopefully break the curse and in turn, cure the cancer."

"Don't worry, Harry, dear," Pomfrey added in. "Healer Camden is one of the best in the field; if anyone can figure this out, it's him."

Harry only vaguely took note of the fact that Madam Pomfrey referred to him by his first name, and 'dear' at that. It was definitely different from her usual terms of endearment, which usually included 'reckless' and 'irresponsible.' He felt the corner of his lip quirk in amusement at that, but it quickly faded again. Looking between his friends, he saw that Hermione was near tears and Ron was a bit green. How could this be happening to them now, after all of the things they'd already been through together? If neither Pomfrey or Healer Camden knew what was going on with him, did that mean he was quite literally screwed?

He could practically hear Voldemort laughing from his grave.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry was kept in the hospital wing for two days. Healer Camden had tried suggesting he be moved to St. Mungo's for more intensive care, but Harry fought the idea tooth and nail until they gave in and allowed him to stay at Hogwarts. As much as Harry hated the hospital wing, he knew he would hate an actual hospital more because his friends would not be able to visit him as often. As a compromise, Harry was assigned a small team of experts who made regular visits to Hogwarts to check on him.

Harry had been subjected to several rigorous rounds of testing and examinations that involved various spells and potions. The results were subsequently sent off to an expert on curses in the hopes that they would be able to identify what was causing the illness. According to Camden, it could take one to three days before they would hear anything back. In the mean time, Harry had to endure Pomfrey's merciless medical routine.

"Time for your potions, Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, right on time. "And don't give me that face."

"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey," Harry said taking the goblet of potion from the matron. "It's just these have to be the worst potions I've ever taken."

"You say that about every potion you've taken," Madam Pomfrey pointed out while putting her hands on her hips.

"It's because it's true every time!" Harry said, blanching a bit when he caught a whiff of the foul orange substance in the goblet. Noticing that Pomfrey was hovering over him with a scrutinizing glare, Harry took a deep breath and gulped down the potion as fast as he could. It slid down his throat in thick, slimy globs on which he nearly choked. When he drained the last drop, he coughed a few times.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Pomfrey said as she vanished the goblet and went about straightening Harry's bedding for him.

"Easy for you to say," Harry replied with another cough.

"I'll be back with your afternoon potion in a few hours," Pomfrey said, conjuring a glass of water for Harry and leaving.

"Can't wait," Harry mumbled after her.

Picking up the water, Harry took a couple large drinks from it, washing the taste of the potion out of his mouth. He might have exaggerated about it being the worst, but it definitely made the top five. It was the potion meant to cure his cancer, which Healer Camden had ordered him to take three times a day, followed by an anti-nausea and pain relieving potion one to two times a day. Harry didn't think he would have been able to make it through without those last two potions because the cancer potion made him more nauseated than he could ever remember being in his life. He'd immediately thrown up after the first time drinking it and his stomach hurt so bad he couldn't move from a fetal position for over an hour.

Laying his head back on his pillows, Harry looked up at the ceiling, which was starting to spin slightly. He could already feel the potion bubbling in his stomach and causing the nausea to rise. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath to push it down and tried to keep his mind off of it. He was only allowed a maximum of two nausea potions a day considering any more than that might interfere with the properties of the cancer potion. He would most likely have to endure the nausea for another hour or so before Madam Pomfrey would allow him to have one.

Instead, he tried to distract himself by formulating a game plan for their next Quidditch match in his head. Their new line up was pretty strong but he was starting to worry that his illness might interfere in some way. He would have to consider a potential fill in for days he was too sick, or possibly a permanent replacement all together. Rolling over onto his side, Harry tried not to let that thought get him down. There was no guarantee that was going to be necessary, after all. Chest rising and falling with deep breaths, his thoughts slowly started to sink into darkness and the room started to feel farther and farther away.

_He was soaring through the air on his broom. His team mates were flying past him and the crowd was cheering for them. Harry had his arm stretched out toward the snitch, but the closer he got, the heavier the air became. He felt like he was trying to fly through molasses now, every movement taking incredible strain on his body but he urged his broom forward. His fingertips grazed the snitch, but dizziness suddenly hit him hard and he lurched forward, falling off his broom._

_He fell slowly, looking up to see the darkness closing in on the sky as he hit the ground, the Quidditch pitch fading away. When he stood up, he saw that his surroundings were that of ash and fire. The grass beneath his feet was soaked with blood from the hundreds of dead bodies that littered the battlefield. He saw the faces of Fred, Remus, Colin and even Sirius and Cedric staring up at with glassy, unblinking eyes. He saw Hermione and Ron at the other end of the battlefield, their backs turned to him and unaware of the group of Death Eaters advancing on them._

_Reaching out with a trembling hand, Harry tried to scream out to them, but no words came from his mouth. He tried to move but his feet were stuck, trapped in the blood of his dead friends._

_Cold, taunting red eyes appeared before him. Harry's heart froze in his chest as Voldemort appeared there. The Dark Lord was laughing at him, though no sound came from him either. The silence pressed in against him like a great pressure threatening to squash him._

_When he felt something dripping from his nose, he moved his hand to wipe at it and pulled it back to see it was covered in blood. It began dribbling from his mouth next. He tried to wipe it all away but the more he tried to wipe at it, the more blood there was and the more his vision began to blur. No. Not yet! He couldn't be dying yet! He had to defeat Voldemort._

_Looking up at the Dark Lord, Harry saw Voldemort lift his wand and point it at him. His mouth formed words and a chill of terror ran through Harry as he recognized what they were._

_'Avada Kedavra!'_

Harry startled awake when he felt a pair of hands shaking him aggressively. He immediately started to struggle against whoever it was, thrashing his arms and legs while screaming. Straining against the hold his assailant had on him, Harry reached for his wand, but the swimming in his head and the pain in his shoulder made it hard to move.

"Harry! Harry!" a voice called out to him, barely penetrating the panic fogging his brain. "Stop! It's just me, R-argh, bloody hell!"

Harry's threw his fist out, knuckles connecting painfully with the person's chin and causing them to stumble backwards. Panting heavily, he made another scramble for his wand but the person grabbed hold of his arms and placed a knee onto his back, pinning him down to the bed. Heart beating wildly in his chest, Harry squeezed his eyes shut, barely able to breathe with his face pressed into the mattress. Despite his best efforts to struggle free, he found himself far too weak and dizzy to fight off the person on top of him.

"Harry, please calm down," his attacker said in a surprisingly soothing voice. "It was just a nightmare!"

Slowly, the images from the nightmares began to fade and recognition seeped into his brain. He knew that voice.

"Ron?" Harry said, his voice cracked and his throat dry. Presumably from screaming.

"Yeah, mate," the person, Ron, said. He felt the knee on his back slowly ease off and the hands release their hold. "It's just me and Hermione."

Despite being free to move, Harry just lie there for a few moments longer, breathing heavily into the linens and staring off at the wall. The panic was still so vivid in his mind that part of him did not want to turn around and discover that it was not Ron there after all. There was a burning at the back of his eyes and for a brief second, he almost started to cry. He willed it back, however, and just closed his eyes, taking in a deep, shuddering breath. When a hand was placed between his shoulder blades, his eyes flew open again and he tensed immediately, adrenaline still dictating his actions.

"It's alright, Harry," Ron said again, making soft, soothing circles with his hand. Harry instantly relaxed again and nodded. Ron and Hermione were the only people he allowed to touch him that way.

Harry let Ron rub his back for a minute or so before slowly rolling over and sitting up, ignoring the way his entire body protested. When he felt something wet sliding across his lip, Harry wiped at it and looked at his hand to see it smeared with bright red fluid. When memories of the dream came back to him, Harry's eyes widened and his heart immediately began to race.

"Hermione, can you get him some tissues?" he heard Ron say over the rising panic. Ron seemed to have sensed Harry's growing distress because a pair of hands grabbed him by the biceps and held on firmly. "Harry, look at me."

It took a firm shake from Ron for Harry to snap to his senses and look up at him. As soon as he met a pair of familiar, safe, blue eyes, Harry felt the real world fall into place and he calmed down again. It required several deep breaths and some calming words from Ron before the last of Harry's muscles stopped tensing and shaking. When Hermione returned with the tissues, Ron pressed them to Harry's nose and placed a hand on the back of his neck, tipping his head forward slightly.

"Are you alright, Harry?" he heard Hermione ask from a spot next to him. Harry kept his eyes on the floor but he nodded his head. His adrenaline was still pumping wildly, but he was no longer in fight or flight mode.

"You gave us a right scare, mate," Ron said, massaging the back of Harry's neck in a calming manner. "It looked like a really bad one that time."

"You have no idea," Harry croaked, bringing the tissues away from his nose and noticing it was almost completely soaked in blood. Hermione instantly procured clean ones and handed them to Harry, who smiled weakly at her and pressed them to his still bleeding nose.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him, and with only one glance, Harry saw that she was extremely concerned. He wondered if it was over the nightmare or the bloody nose, though he supposed it was possible for it to be both.

"I've been better," Harry said with a half-hearted chuckle. He couldn't bring himself to lie and claim he was alright when he was cold, sweaty, nauseated and practically bleeding to death.

"You've definitely looked better, that's for sure," Ron commented, moving positions so he was sitting next to Harry on the bed but he kept his hand placed on the back of his neck. Harry just shot him a look.

"Like you can talk," Harry said, eyeing the angry red mark standing out against Ron's pale chin.

"Yeah, you clocked me good," Ron said, rubbing at the spot. Judging by the looks of it, Harry guessed it was going to make for a nice bruise. Grimacing, Harry felt guilty, not having meant to hit Ron like that. He'd swung out on instinct.

"Sorry about that, Ron," Harry said, taking the tissues from his nose when the bleeding finally stopped.

"Don't worry about it," Ron said, waving off Harry's concerns. "I can handle a couple of hits from a runt like you."

"Tell that to the giant bruise forming on your face," Harry replied with a cheeky grin.

"It was a lucky shot," Ron said while giving Harry a playful shove on the shoulder.

"I bet I could beat your arse any day!"

"Harry, Harry, you'd actually need muscle for that."

"Right, I forgot about _your_ impressively muscular physique."

"If you two are quite done," Hermione interrupted them impatiently, turning to Harry. "I brought your textbooks and homework for you. I even made copies of my notes for you to use from lectures."

She proceeded to drop a set of books and a pile of parchments onto the hospital bed. Harry looked down at the sheer amount of them and forced back to the urge to groan. Leave it to Hermione to remember something like that even when he was sick with cancer. "Gee, thanks, Hermione. I was thinking to myself earlier 'you know what would really make me feel better right now? Homework!'"

"You'll be thanking me later," Hermione said, crossing her arms over her chest. "NEWTs will be here before you know it."

"If I'm even still here for that," Harry said without thinking. Dead silence hung throughout the room as both Ron and Hermione stared at him with shock and horror on their faces. Immediately, Harry felt shame and embarrassment for being so tactless.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Of course you'll still be here," Ron cut him off adamantly, having collected himself quite quickly. "If you've proven anything, it's that you're, like, invincible."

"Yeah," Hermione nodded vigorously, "if anyone can beat all the odds, it's definitely you."

Harry smiled softly at his friends in appreciation. He couldn't deny that he went through a lot of doubt about his current situation. The way the healers regarded him often seemed like it was a miracle he was even alive right _now_ , let alone any time in the future. He tried to chock it off as himself being paranoid, but he'd gotten too good at reading people for that to be true.

"Well, I wish I was as gifted at coursework as I was at surviving things trying to kill me," Harry commented as he scanned through some of the notes Hermione had brought him. Most of it looked quite complicated and would probably take him hours to get through.

"I could help you, if you'd like," Hermione said.

Harry quirked his brow in surprise at her unusual offer. She always insisted that Ron and Harry do their work on their own because 'it was the only way they'd learn.' At first, he thought she was doing it because she felt sorry for him and he started to feel annoyed that she was already treating him differently. When he actually looked at her face, though, he only saw anxiousness and sincerity there. Harry realized it was her way of doing something for him when she knew there was nothing else she _could_ do. She was feeling just as helpless as he was.

"That'd be great, Hermione," Harry said, scooting over to make room on the bed for her. Hermione beamed at him and sat across from him, picking up the notes and opening the books.

xxxxx

It took a few solid hours to get most of Harry's coursework completed. It was mainly due to the fact that he was forced to stop and take breaks every ten minutes when he was feeling dizzy or nauseated. Hermione was surprisingly patient throughout, never rushing him or getting frustrated with how slow things were going. She even picked up writing for him when his hands got too shaky to create legible words. Ron spent most of the time sitting on the floor with his chess board set out, playing a game against himself. He had a pile of snack wrappers next to him, a Chocolate Frog halfway in his mouth as he studied the board, trying to determine his next move.

It was around late afternoon when Madam Pomfrey and Camden showed up. Pomfrey arched a brow at the mess they had made of the hospital wing, with books and parchments strewn on the bed and sweet wrappers and Ron all over the floor. Surprisingly, she did not say anything, though. She just allowed Camden to step forward and speak.

"Good afternoon," Camden greeted with a warm tone. "Doing some homework?"

"Just finishing up, is it time for my potions again?" Harry asked, shuffling some of the papers into a neat stack.

"We'll get to that in a little while," Camden replied. "Do you mind if we talked for a minute?"

Harry blinked and looked up, somewhat confused by the healer's tone. "Er, sure."

"Do you wish for Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger to be here as well?"

Harry nodded.

"Very well," Camden continued. "Mr. Potter, we received your results from the curse breaker."

"Oh?" Harry asked, his stomach doing an odd flip. He glanced over to Ron and Hermione to see their reactions but both were intently focused on Camden.

"Yes," Camden nodded, and Harry noticed that his tone didn't seem particularly good. His next words confirmed that suspicious. "Mr. Potter, it seems that the curse that caused your cancer was the killing curse."

It took several moments for those words to sink into Harry's brain. That seemed to be true for Ron and Hermione as well because none of them said anything for a long while. He was glad that Hermione got her wits together first because for the time being Harry seemed unable to process anything going on.

"How is that possible? What does that mean?" she said, her voice shaky.

"We can only theorize that it's a possible side effect of being touched by the killing curse, if one were to survive such an occurrence that is," Camden replied. "There are traces of it in Harry's blood and it seems to have caused the cancer we are seeing in him."

"So...so what are you going to do?" Ron asked next. Harry noticed that Camden's expression turned very grave at Ron's question.

"There is no known cure or defense against the killing curse," Camden said. "That severely lowers the chances of-"

"Of me surviving," Harry finished plainly.

Camden cleared his throat a bit awkwardly and he looked at Harry with sympathetic eyes. "That does not mean there is no hope. We will continue treatment while searching for a cure."

"How long?" Harry asked.

Camden blinked. "How long what?"

"How long do I have?" Harry clarified. "Assuming you don't find a cure."

Harry knew that he was creating tension in his room with his blunt questions. Hermione was shifting on the bed beside him uncomfortably and Ron was staring down at his chess board with his hands curled into fists. Even Pomfrey and the Healer didn't seem quite sure how to handle Harry's behavior. He knew he would feel like a total arse later on when his senses came back to him, but for now he didn't care.

Camden sighed. "At the current progression of the disease, I'd estimate you have until December."

Beside him, Hermione slapped her hand over her mouth and her eyes began to fill with tears. Ron didn't look up from his chess board at all but Harry could tell that his entire body had gone stiff. Harry didn't know how he felt, or if he was feeling anything at all. He had to place his hand over his chest to make sure his heart was still beating because everything felt so numb. December was only three months away. He only had three months left to live.

_'Damn. I hope I at least make it to Christmas. I want one last Weasley jumper.'_

"Like I said, Harry," Camden continued. "We will continue treatment and do our best to figure out a way to cure this."

Harry just nodded his head, barely listening to him anymore. He'd heard all that mattered at that point. For as well-intentioned as Camden's words were, he already read the truth in his face. The chances of finding a cure were nearly zero percent. If Harry was currently able to find humor in the situation, he would have laughed.

_'After all this time being famous for surviving the killing curse, it ends up offing me after all. Go figure.'_

At some point, Camden and Pomfrey had left the room, most likely to give Harry, Ron and Hermione a chance to absorb the information and have a moment together. The three of them did not say anything nor did they look at each other the entire time. Rather, they remained silently sitting in the hospital room while the sunlight waned through the window. Both Harry's homework and Ron's chess game remained unfinished.


	7. Chapter 7

"Maybe you should take the day off?"

"Hermione, I've taken about two weeks off as is, I don't need anymore rest," Harry said with exasperation.

It was the morning after Harry was finally released from the hospital wing and the last thing he wanted to do was lie in bed. He'd suffered a grueling two weeks under Pomfrey's care and one more day of it would have driven him to off himself. Those same four, dull colored walls and the same group of overly professional healers as his only company had started driving him absolutely mad. After Madam Pomfrey had determined that Harry wasn't having any particular negative reaction to his treatments, she finally let him leave and he'd practically flown out of there.

"You should look a little pale, that's all," Hermione responded, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

"I'm not going to keel over from a couple of lessons," Harry said, rolling his eyes as they made their way out the portrait.

Ron and Hermione were following closely beside him, never straying far from his side. Ever since they'd found out that he was terminally ill, they'd took to hovering around him and keeping an annoying close eye on him. It was almost like they thought he'd drop dead if they looked away for even a second.

"Well, no, I suppose not," Hermione said.

"Harry has the option to tell the professors that going to class is _literally_ bad for his health and he doesn't take it," Ron said, throwing his hands up into the air. "It's like I don't even _know_ you."

"Hey, if you'd spent two entire weeks in the hospital wing, lessons would start sounding damn appealing to you too," Harry chuckled, adjusting the strap of his satchel over his shoulder.

Ron appeared to think about that for a moment before he shook his head. "Nah, you're still bonkers, mate."

By the time they reached the entrance to the Great Hall, Harry was struggling to hide the fact that he was breathing hard. Beads of sweat started to form across his forehead, which he hurriedly wiped away with the sleeve of his robe. He couldn't recall the walk down to the Great Hall ever being that long and tiring. When they walked through the doors, Harry felt himself freeze when he noticed that dozens of eyes instantly turned to look in his direction. His first horrifying thought was that somehow everyone _knew._

"No one knows, Harry," Ron assured him as if reading Harry's thoughts. "It's just people are bound to notice when the savior of the wizarding world is in hospital for two weeks."

Harry slowly let out a relieved breath and nodded his head. He couldn't stand the idea of everyone knowing, not yet anyway. He knew it'd eventually get out, but he wanted to delay that for as long as possible. The attention he'd get for it would be unbearable and he didn't even want to think of what it'd be like if the media got hold of that information.

_'I've always dreamed of having my death bed surrounded by paparazzi.'_

When the three of them sat at the table, Harry resisted the urge to lay his head down. He was suddenly very tired and his eyes felt heavy. Rubbing his hands over his face, he reached over to pour himself a cup of tea, thinking the caffeine would help perk him up a bit (it was also one of the few things he could actually stomach anymore). By now he was starting to think that staying in bed had probably been a good idea, but he didn't want to get an 'I told you so' lecture from Hermione. After gulping down the first cup in record time, he was in the process of pouring himself another one when Dean and Seamus sat down across from him.

"You're alive!" Seamus greeted cheerfully. "That must have been one nasty flu."

"Yeah, we were starting to think you were dying," Dean said jokingly.

Ron made a choking sound next to him and Hermione's face had gone slightly pale. Harry set his tea cup down, an odd restricting feeling seizing hold of his chest. He tried to act normal, though, because Dean and Seamus were already giving them confused looks. Ron quickly went back to cutting up his sausage with more intent than necessary and Hermione pretended to search for something in her bag.

"Er, so what lessons do you have first?" Seamus asked, still giving the three of them curious looks.

"Charms," Harry answered, reaching over to grab the pitcher of milk to pour into his tea. The handle slipped right through his weak grip and the contents sloshed across the table, splattering the group of them with flecks of milk. Harry stared down at the mess he'd made, an embarrassed flush creeping up his neck and spreading to his cheeks. He quickly fumbled for his wand but his hand was so shaky that he ended up dropping it with a clatter.

_'Oh, really now?'_

"Here, it's alright, Harry, let me help," Hermione said gently, taking out her wand and cleaning up the mess Harry had made. In the mean time, Ron had picked up his wand for him and was pressing it into his hand.

"You're getting almost as clumsy as Neville," Ron joked, trying to ease Harry's obvious embarrassment.

"Yeah, sorry," Harry said with a sheepish smile. Hermione was now leaning over him, taking the initiative to prepare his tea for him. She poured in a generous amount of milk and added two teaspoons of sugar, exactly the way Harry liked it. For some reason, he felt himself getting oddly emotional over the fact that Hermione knew how he took his tea.

"You sure you're up for lessons today?" Dean asked, eyeing Harry. "You don't look too well."

"Yeah, you're really pale and shaky," Seamus agreed. "Maybe you're still a bit sick?"

"I'm alright, really, I just didn't get much sleep last night," Harry said, wiping his arm across his forehead again. He noticed that he was a bit warm and clammy, despite the fact that the rest of him was feeling quite cold. He'd had worse days than this, though, so he wasn't ready to give in and go back to the dorms just yet. A few lessons shouldn't be too hard to get through.

"If you're sure..." Seamus trailed off.

"Look, he said he's fine, just leave him alone," Ron said quite suddenly, his voice terse.

Seamus appeared taken aback by Ron's sudden mood change. Even Harry gave him a look of surprise, but he didn't say anything. Ron's entire body was stiff and he was gripping his fork so hard that his knuckles were turning white. It took Hermione gently laying her hand over the top of his for his grip to finally start relaxing and the tension to ease from his shoulders.

"You alright, there, Ron?" Dean asked, confused and concerned.

"Yeah, just, uh...gas," Ron said with a weak smile. Everyone at the table exchanged glances.

"A little too much information there, mate," Dean responded with a laugh.

The conversation fell into a light, casual chatter, but the entire time Harry found himself looking down at his lap. Fiddling with the hem of his robe sleeves, he couldn't stop thinking about how much he was putting Ron and Hermione through. He had a feeling this was hitting them much harder than it was him. They did their best to put on a brave front for him, but he knew them well enough to see through the cracks. They were hurting. A painful tugging sensation at his heart brought on the threat of tears, but he held them back.

_'Now is not the time to wallow in guilt. They need me just as much as I need them right now.'_

He was shaken out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder, and Harry looked up to see Ron trying to get his attention. Blinking a couple of times, the red-head's voice began to filter through and it took him a minute to catch up with what he was saying. He'd gotten so lost in thought that he hadn't realized his companions had already finished eating and were now standing.

"Harry? You ready to go to lessons?" Ron asked, furrowing his brows.

"Oh, yeah, hang on," Harry said, chugging down the rest of his nearly-cold tea before standing. It didn't escape his notice that Ron and Hermione were hovering rather close, appearing ready to catch him should he fall or something. Harry frowned and resisted the urge to tell them off for treating him like some helpless invalid.

"Were you able to finish Flitwicks assignment, Ron?" Hermione asked as they headed out of the Great Hall and towards the Charms classroom.

"I only got 10 inches written," Ron said with a groan. "Why can't you help me like you do Harry?"

"Because you're perfectly well enough to do your own homework," Hermione responded.

"And I'm not?" Harry asked, suddenly unable to hold back his annoyance. "It's not like I have cancer of the brain, you know. I can still do everything I could before."

Hermione looked at him and flushed a little. "Oh, no, I didn't mean it like that, Harry..."

"No, it's alright, I'm sorry," Harry said with a sigh. "Just a little on edge today, I suppose. I really do appreciate your help, Hermione."

"It's okay, we understand," Hermione said hurriedly, nodding her head. "You're going through a lot."

"Well, so are you two," Harry replied with a shrug. He didn't know why, but his mood had taken a rather sharp decline and it was taking all he had to fight it. "Anyway, let's go get our seats."

Almost everyone else had already arrived, leaving only a few vacant seats towards the back of the room. While Hermione and Ron went to sit down, Harry was suddenly pulled to the side by Professor Flitwick. At first, he thought he might be in trouble for something, but one look at the professor's face told him otherwise.

"I've been informed of your situation, Mr. Potter," Flitwick said, and Harry hated the pity in the man's eyes. "If you need to take breaks or leave, you may do so any time."

"Thanks, Professor," Harry said, forcing a smile. Inside, his heart was twanging with annoyance and frustration. Why couldn't everyone just treat him the same as before? Even though their sympathy came from a good place, it only served to continuously remind Harry that he was now 'that kid who's dying.'

When he made it over to Ron and Hermione, he sank down onto the seat between them and rubbed at his face.

"What did Flitwick want?" Ron questioned curiously. Harry sighed heavily and peeked at Ron through the cracks of his fingers.

"Basically, he told me if at any point I need to blow chunks, I'm free to run out," Harry said.

"So he knows, then?" Ron asked, eyebrows raising.

"The Headmistress must have informed all of the teachers," Hermione reasoned. "I know it's annoying, but it's only in your best interest."

"Everyone's certainly been all about my best interest lately, haven't they?" Harry said, dropping his Charms book down onto the table with a bit more force than necessary. Both Ron and Hermione flinched at the loud sound it made and Harry didn't fail to notice the look they shared between each other. "It's like everyone thinks I'm this fragile thing that needs help all the time."

"Now, Harry, I don't see why you're all worked up over this," Hermione said delicately, like she was trying to soothe a wild animal. "Everyone's just trying to help."

"Well, I don't _want_ any of your help," Harry said louder than he meant to, which caught the attention of the three students sitting in front of them.

"Okay, Harry, okay," Ron placated, obviously not wanting Harry to get worked up.

In truth, Harry really was trying to calm himself down, because he knew he was being incredibly irrational and unfair. For some reason, though, no matter how much he tried to talk himself down, it did nothing to control the rapid beating of his heart nor the burn of anger in his chest. His head started rushing and he had to press his forehead into the palms of his hands. Barely a second later, there was a metallic taste in his mouth and he felt warm fluid running freely from his nose. Slapping his hand over his face, Harry felt the blood leaking between his fingers as it began dripping all over the desk.

He was on his feet in an instant, rushing out of the room with his hand covering his face in an attempt to keep anyone from seeing. Bursting through the classroom doors, he nearly bowled right into an unsuspecting student.

"Sorry," he muttered through his hand before hurrying around them and walking as fast as he could towards the prefect's bathroom. The regular bathrooms were closer, but Harry needed to be alone and away from prying eyes. As he was climbing the stairs, he stumbled into the wall a few times as dizziness threatened to push him backwards. Gripping onto the banister with his spare hand, he willed himself to keep climbing and eventually made it to the fifth floor.

Practically barging into the prefect's bathroom, Harry stormed over to the sinks and flipped on the tap with more force than necessary. He immediately started splashing water onto his face, aggressively scrubbing at the blood that was still flowing out of his nose. By the time he was done, the water swirling around the drain was tinted pink. Bringing his head up, he grabbed a hand towel and pressed it to his face, looking into the mirrors.

His pale, sweaty reflection stared back at him. What startled him the most was the way his green eyes were practically blazing in anger. He stared into those eyes for a long time, watching the anger slowly fade into an empty sadness. There was a sudden hole in his chest where all of that anger had previously been and he fought the urge to break down. He hated seeing himself that way, it made him feel guilty, because he knew that was how his friends saw him.

Bringing the towel away, Harry noticed that his nose had stopped bleeding, but the metallic taste in his mouth was still present. Confused, he leaned in closer to the mirror and opened his mouth to inspect it. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed bright red fluid all around his teeth, seeping through between them. Rubbing at his gums with a finger, Harry brought it back to see that, sure enough, it was covered in blood. Again, he felt the incessant burn of tears at the back of his eyes but he refused to let them form. He wouldn't cry; he wouldn't acknowledge that he was _scared._

Cupping some water in his hand, he brought it to his mouth and swished it around, trying to rinse off the blood. When he spit it into the sink, it too was tinted a dull pink color. Running his tongue along his gums, he noticed that the taste of blood was no longer quite as prominent. When he looked at his reflection again, his fringe was dripping wet but his face was clean. He had washed away all signs of anything wrong, and he could almost pretend nothing was happening.

He just wished that were true.

xxxxx

Ron and Hermione found him in the bathroom a few hours later, sitting in one of the stalls with his head resting against the wall and his arms wrapped around his knees. After being hit with the most intense round of nausea he'd experienced yet, Harry had spent a good hour puking his guts out until he was literally too tired to keep going. Shaky and weak, he had fallen asleep right there in the stall.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice gently pulled him from his sleep. Opening his bleary eyes, he looked over to his two friends, who were crouching down beside him. He gave them a weak smile and sat up straighter, back and shoulders aching from sitting in such an uncomfortable place for so long.

"Hey," he said, his throat cracking. It felt sore and raw from vomiting so much.

"Hey, mate," Ron said, smiling too. "We know you're used to sleeping in cramped spaces and all, but this has got to be uncomfortable."

"Was too tired to move," Harry said, almost chuckling but the dryness in his throat stopped him from doing so. Hermione conjured a goblet of water for him, which he gratefully accepted. While he drank, she reached out and brushed some sweaty hair from his forehead, the touch of her warm fingers making him shiver a bit.

"I know it's the last thing you want to do right now," Hermione said as she dug around in her bag, "but when we went to check if you were in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey gave us your next round of potions to take."

Harry groaned and gave the bottle she pulled out a hateful glare. "Can't it wait until later?"

"You know it needs to be administered regularly," Hermione said with a sympathetic smile.

"We could always pretend I don't know that," Harry grumbled, but sighed and held his hand out for the potion obediently. When Hermione gave it to him, he just opened it and chugged it down in as few gulps as possible.

"I do not envy you right now," Ron said as Harry grimaced at the taste and drank down some water afterwards.

"Do you want us to help you back to the dorms?" Hermione asked, gently rubbing her hand up and down his arm.

"I think I'm going to just stay here," Harry said, shaking his head. He could already feel his stomach churning from the potions, the nausea rising up far too quickly. "I don't think I should stray too far from a toilet."

"Well, then we'll stay here with you," Ron said, plopping himself down so he was sitting outside the stall.

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I doubt the last thing you two want to do is spend an entire night in the bathroom."

"We're not going to leave you here alone," Ron said firmly, leaning his back against the stall to get comfortable. "Knowing you, you'll pass out with your head in the toilet and drown."

"Oh, right, yeah, _that's_ how I'm going to go," Harry replied but he was laughing. "Forget the flu, that's the most headline worthy death I've ever heard."

"Harry Potter, classy to the very end," Ron said with a grin.

"And about to get even classier," Harry groaned out, clutching at his stomach as it gave a particularly painful lurch. Suddenly he was hunched over the toilet again, the sounds of gagging echoing off the walls.

It was a solid three minutes of vomiting, with Harry clutching at the toilet in absolute agony while Hermione rubbed his back. She didn't seem to mind the disgustingly acidic stench of sick that was rapidly filling the bathroom, nor the sounds of the vomit splashing against water. It was the half-retching, half-sobbing sounds Harry was making that seemed to bother his friends the most. When he was finally finished, Harry flushed the toilet with shaky hands and nearly collapsed. Fortunately, Hermione and Ron both caught him by the arms and lowered him carefully back into a sitting position.

"Easy there, mate," Ron said, patting Harry on the knee. "You feel better?"

"Define 'better,'" Harry replied, breathing harshly and trembling uncontrollably.

"Okay, bad question," Ron laughed. "Hopefully you've stopped vomiting for awhile, at least."

"I think my actual stomach almost came up that time," Harry said, gripping at the front of his uniform. "I don't even know what I'm puking up anymore, I haven't eaten in days."

"You really should try to get some food down," Hermione said, furrowing her brows in concern. "You won't get better if you're weak from hunger all the time."

"I would if I could, Hermione," Harry pointed out, closing his eyes. "My stomach just keeps rejecting everything."

"Maybe there's some foods that are easier to handle for cancer patients," Hermione replied thoughtfully. "I'll do some research on it."

"Great, she's turning my cancer into homework," Harry groaned. "Ron, stop her."

"Sorry, Harry, can't help you there," Ron said, holding his hands up. "Nothing gets in the way of Hermione and her research."

"Some friend you are," Harry said, resting his head back against the wall. "Remind me to get a new one."

"Too late, there's no returns on this friend," Ron said with a crooked smile. "You're stuck with me."

"It's true," Hermione nodded. "I haven't been able to get rid of him no matter how hard I've tried."

"Exactly, see-hey!" Ron looked at Hermione with wide eyes. "What do you mean you've tried?"

"Oh, don't worry, I gave up awhile ago," Hermione grinned.

"You just think you're so funny, don't you?" Ron said, grabbing Hermione around the shoulders and pulling her in close. He proceeded to attack her face with a barrage of kisses, which left the bushy haired girl squirming and laughing as she tried to playfully push him away. Harry watched them from the corners of his eyes with a small smile on his face. It wasn't long before it faltered into a frown as a burning sensation began building in his stomach and pushing all the way up to his throat.

"Sorry to break up this love fest," Harry groaned as he rolled over to the toilet and started to violently heave again. This time there was a tint of red mingling with the strings of stomach acid and saliva hanging from his mouth, which made him realize that his gums were bleeding again. He used his tongue to try to clean off as much as possible so his friends wouldn't see it, not wanting to add to their list of worries.

"Thanks for that, Harry, that really added that extra bit of romance," Ron teased, still sitting with his arm around Hermione.

"Anything for my two best friends," Harry said with a tired smile and then let out a long sigh. "This is going to be a long night."

"How about a game of Exploding Snaps then?" Ron suggested, pulling out a deck from his satchel. "Just to pass the time."

"Well, it is my dying wish to see you without your eyebrows again," Harry responded, turning so he was facing the other two better.

"Okay, rule number one for the game," Ron said, holding up a finger as the cards began to shuffle. "No talking about dying."

"Rule number two," Harry continued over Ron, holding up two fingers. "The first one to lose their eyebrows has to buy a round of butterbeers next Hogsmeade trip."

"Sounds like a deal to me!" Hermione said cheerfully.

"Oi!"

Harry and Hermione laughed at Ron's indignant huffing and started the game. They spent the remainder of the night on the floor of the prefects bathroom, playing games and joking around. Ron found a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans in his bag, and they took turns daring each other to eat the most suspicious looking ones. Harry and Hermione had laughed themselves to tears when Ron ended up eating a cockroach flavored one, while Harry ironically got a vomit flavored one ("Just what I wanted, the taste of _more_ vomit in my mouth!"). Harry also won three rounds of Exploding Snaps despite having to pause every ten minutes to be sick, though fortunately no one lost their eyebrows in the end. However, Harry suffered four spectacular defeats in a row against Ron when he brought his chess set out, while Hermione had only lost once. Ron insisted that Harry had to be the one to buy them all butterbeers now ("To make up for that shameful display").

By the time they had played all of the games Ron owned several times over, it was getting quite late and Harry was completely exhausted. His stomach was hurting and he could barely keep his eyes open from the fatigue. He did notice a curious absence of the anger and despair he had been feeling earlier that day, though, leaving him feeling more at ease than he had in weeks. Hermione tried to convince Harry that he needed to go back to the dorms to sleep, but he refused to move. His body was too tired and he had a feeling he was going to need the toilet again soon enough. She eventually gave in and conjured a bunch of squashy pillows and fluffy blankets for them.

"You really don't have to stay," Harry tried to argue.

"Do you think sleeping on the bathroom floor is the worst thing we've ever gone through with you?" Ron responded while fluffing one of his pillows and lying down. Harry couldn't argue against that.

Harry had somehow ended up in between Ron and Hermione, his body nestled in a cocoon of blankets. Sore and tired, he laid down and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. They didn't seem to have a thought or care about whether other people would venture into the bathroom, but if someone did, they would come across Ron and Hermione with their arms draped across Harry, their hands intertwined tightly as the three of them huddled close together.

Harry didn't have a single nightmare that night.


	8. Chapter 8

"I don't see why they always have to do the check ups in the hospital wing. Like, can't they do it here in the common room?"

"Oh, Harry, you're being ridiculous!"

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"I will carry you to the infirmary myself if I have to," Hermione crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing threateningly.

"I'd like to see you try, Hermione," Harry replied, sitting stubbornly on the couch. He tried to sound resolute, but with the way his throat was hurting made his voice weak and broken. "I'm bigger and heavier than you."

Hermione turned to Ron at that, exasperation written on her face. "Ron?"

"I'm on it!" he said, hopping up from the couch and walking over to Harry. "Sorry about this, mate."

Harry's eyes widened considerably when Ron wrapped his arms around his shoulders and hauled him off of the couch. He was in too much shock to do anything right away as Ron held him tightly against his chest and started walking towards the exit.

"Oi!" Harry said indignantly when his senses finally came back to him. "What in the bloody hell are you doing, Ron?!"

"Taking a trip to the infirmary," Ron replied in a cheery voice.

"I'm not a child! Put me down this instant," Harry said, attempting to struggle free, but Ron had his arms pinned down at his side. Ron was just tall enough that Harry's feet didn't even touch the ground as he was carried out of the portrait hole.

"Well then, stop acting so childish!" Hermione admonished, giving Harry a disapproving stare.

"You can't do this to me!" Harry glared at Hermione and tried to do the same to Ron, but he couldn't quite look over his shoulder in his current position. "I'm the...the savior of the wizarding world!"

Ron laughed at that. "Just watch me, o' savior."

Harry was half carried, half dragged the rest of the way to the infirmary. By the time they arrived and walked inside, Harry had the most disgruntled and sour look on his face. Both Madam Pomfrey and Healer Camden were already there, staring at the scene with raised eyebrows as Ron unceremoniously dumped Harry on his usual bed.

"Patient Harry Potter checking in," Ron announced, grinning at the murderous glare Harry was giving him.

"Has he been giving you trouble again?" Pomfrey sighed, shaking her head. "Honestly, Potter, you're much too old to be behaving this way."

"The hospital is a horrible place no matter what age you are," Harry retorted, already feeling unease at being there. His body was rather tense and he made the mistake of looking around.

The sunlight was almost eerie the way it streamed through the windows, highlighting the sterile room with glaring whiteness. The silence was so pressing that memories of the agonized cries of his friends and loved ones began to echo in his ears. The formerly empty beds were now filled front to back with broken and injured bodies, many of them merely waiting to die. Their images were so vivid and clear that he felt like he was reliving the memory all over again. Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, repeating phrases of assurance and comfort in his mind. When he reopened them, the bodies were gone and the beds were empty again.

"You alright, dear? You suddenly look quite pale," Pomfrey's voice broke through his thoughts. "Do you need another anti-nausea potion?"

"No, I'm alright," Harry replied with a shake of his head, his voice breaking again (either because of his sore throat or because of what he'd just seen, he wasn't sure). He turned his attention over to the matron, trying his best not to think about the horrors that had occurred in that very room, about his dying friends. "I'd like some water, though."

"Of course," Pomfrey said and picked up the pitcher of water near his bed, pouring it into a glass for him. He took a big gulp but winced in pain when the water slid down his throat like broken shards of glass, causing him to cough and dribble all over himself. Using his hand to wipe it away, Harry set the cup down and rubbed at his throat.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione asked, apparently having noticed his pained reaction. "Is your throat bothering you?"

"A little," he replied, his voice ragged.

"Harry, if you don't mind?" Camden said, suddenly approaching him.

Harry looked at him in confusion as the healer tilted his head to the side and gently pressed his fingers against his neck. This caused Harry to wince and nearly flinch away but he forced himself to stay still by gripping the edge of the bed.

"Can you open your mouth for me?" Camden asked next, sliding his hands away from Harry's neck. Harry merely complied, feeling a bit awkward as he sat there with his mouth open while Camden stared down his throat. There was a brief moment of silence before: "Alright, thank you."

"Is something wrong?" Harry asked as he closed his mouth.

"Your lymph nodes are a bit swollen," Camden replied. "There appears to be the beginnings of an infection in your tonsils. When did the pain start?"

"This morning, maybe late last night," Harry responded. "I just thought it was a normal sore throat."

"It's progressed quite quickly, then," Camden said, "we can clear up the infection but we'll have to keep an eye on in case it returns. You're going to be quite prone to infections for awhile."

"I will?" Harry asked, rubbing his throat again.

"The cancer is compromising your immune system, and you'll start noticing that you're getting sick a lot easier than before," Camden explained. "Colds, flus, infections, all that fun stuff. Your body is very susceptible right now."

"Great," Harry mumbled. "So on top of one big illness, I have to worry about a bunch of smaller ones too?"

Camden chuckled. "Well, you don't have to worry too much. We should be able to keep all of that under control."

"Oh, good," Harry said. "I _really_ hate having the cold."

"Is that really what you're most worried about right now?" Ron said with an arched brow.

"You didn't grow up as a muggle for the first eleven years of your life," Harry replied defensively. "Colds really suck when you don't have magical cures."

"Oh, he's right, Ron," Hermione interjected with agreement. "I once missed a whole week of school because of a particularly nasty cold."

"Honestly, how do muggles get on?" Ron said with amazement.

"If you don't mind, Harry? I'm going to have Madam Pomfrey start the examination now." Camden looked to the matron for a moment before turning his attention back to Harry. "In the mean time, I'm just going to ask you a few questions, alright?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry said with a nod. From the corner of his eyes he watched Madam Pomfrey take her wand out. It wasn't so much that the examination part hurt, but it wasn't comfortable either. It felt rather intrusive.

"Other than the sore throat, have you been experiencing any other new symptoms?" Camden started with.

"Not really, just a lot of the same," Harry replied, thinking. "Well, my hip has been hurting a lot, actually."

"Right or left? Or both?" Camden asked.

"Just the right one. Sometimes it's just a dull ache and other times it's a really sharp, throbbing pain that makes it hard to walk," Harry explained, placing his hand on his hip.

"Is it like the pain you get in your collar bone?"

"Yeah, actually. It's the same kind of pain," Harry said.

"Hm. Well, when the cancer starts building up in your bone marrow, it can cause joint and bone pain like that," Camden said. "It's interesting that you're experiencing pain in other places now."

"Interesting how?" Harry asked, confused.

"Our hope was that the treatments would slow down the build up of cancer cells. Have you been taking your potions?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded.

"Every day? On time?"

"Hermione won't let me miss a dose," Harry said, flashing a small smile at the girl. "It's actually quite annoying."

"Well, excuse me for trying to make sure you stay alive, you dolt," Hermione swatted him on the shoulder.

Camden chuckled at them. "And how have you been handling them? Any negative reactions?"

"Only that they taste like the dirty, skanky water a troll has been bathing in," Harry responded, causing Ron to snort next to him. "Oh, and they make me throw up a _lot_."

"I'm afraid there's not much we can do about the taste," Camden eyes sparkled with amusement. "As for the vomiting, have you been able to keep any of the potions down?"

"Maybe a bit," Harry said with a shrug. "I usually get sick right away."

Camden frowned at that. "Well, that's not good. Some nausea and vomiting is to be expected, but if you're throwing up all of the potions, then the treatment won't be effective."

"I don't know what to tell you," Harry responded plainly. "It's not like I can control it."

"Here are the results, Healer Camden," Pomfrey cut in, handing over a long bit of parchment to Camden. The healer paused his discussion with Harry so he could read it over. The frown on his face increased very subtly, but Harry was able to catch it.

 _'Oh must be good news then,'_ he thought sarcastically.

"It's as I feared," Camden sighed, "since you haven't been able to keep down your treatments, there's been very little improvement with the growth of the cancer. It's already spreading to other parts of your body, such as your lymph nodes."

At first, Harry was merely annoyed that he'd had to suffer all of those foul potions for absolutely nothing. However, when the reality of what Camden was saying started to sink in, he felt a strange fear pulling at his heart. If the potions couldn't help him, then did that mean his only option was to wait to die?

"Is there anything you can do, Healer?" Hermione asked, all color drained from her face.

"Yeah, there's got to be something else you can try!" Ron said with urgency and a trace of hopefulness.

"Well, my team and I have been working on creating a treatment specifically for Harry's type of cancer," Camden replied, turning to Ron and Hermione now. "I'm afraid it's taking longer than we'd hoped. This is unlike anything we've encountered before."

"Then what are you going to do in the mean time?" Ron asked, his expression dejected.

"We'll continue with the potions," Camden responded. "We can try to figure out a way to lessen the nausea so Harry can keep them down. How have you been handling food, by the way?"

"Uh, not well," Harry replied.

"He's barely eaten a thing in the past week," Hermione cut in. "Every time he tries, he throws it up."

"Yes, your weight did seem quite low," Camden said, checking the diagnostic results again. "We can give you some nutritional potions for that. It's not a complete substitute for eating, but it will help keep your calorie and vitamin intake up enough so you won't be dropping weight so drastically."

"If I can even keep it down," Harry pointed out.

"This potion is a little easier on the stomach," Camden chuckled. "I think you'll appreciate that it tastes like peaches."

"Does it?" Harry asked, infinitely relieved. He didn't think he could tolerate another foul tasting potion added to the list of ones he was already being force fed. "That shouldn't be too bad then."

Camden jotted a few notes down onto the parchment and then looked up at Harry, smiling. "Well, is there anything else you think I should know about?"

"Not that I can think of," Harry shook his head.

"Alright, well, I'll just be heading back to St. Mungo's now," Camden said. "Madam Pomfrey will clear up that infection for you and give you a dose of the nutrition potion. I'll come back some time next week to check up on you, sound good?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry said, already dreading having to go through all of that again. When Healer Camden left through the door, Madam Pomfrey appeared only seconds later with a bottle of potion in hand. She set down a cup on his bedside table and poured it full of a very light orangish, cream colored liquid. He was pleased to note that the consistency was more like milk than thick sludge.

"Now, let's take care of that throat for you," Pomfrey said as she took her wand out. With a simple tap, Harry instantly felt his tonsils decrease in size and the soreness vanish completely.

"Thanks," Harry said with a smile, rubbing his relieved throat.

"Go on and drink this up," Pomfrey said, pushing the cup into his hands. "Once you're done with that, you're free to go."

With that promise in mind, Harry started chugging the potion down faster than he had ever done before. It was a lot easier to do that time as the potion slid down his throat rather pleasantly. Camden had been right, it did taste like peaches. When he was done, he noticed that he almost immediately felt a lot more energetic. He was no longer dizzy and shaking from lack of food and his stomach felt sated like he'd eaten a whole meal.

"Wow, that stuff works fast," Harry said, handing the cup back. He'd had the muggle version of a nutrition drink before but it had been where near as effective or fast acting. It also hadn't tasted as nice.

"Feeling better?" Ron asked hopefully.

"Much," Harry said, sliding off the bed. He was pleased to note that he hadn't almost blacked out like he normally did upon standing up.

"I want you back here tomorrow morning for a round of treatment," Pomfrey instructed, making Harry groan. "Do _not_ be late, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, Madam," Harry grumbled as she left.

"She can be a real tyrant, can't she?" Ron said with a laugh as they exited the hospital wing together.

"You don't even know the half of it," Harry shook his head. "Be glad you don't end up in there nearly as often as I do."

"Mate, I don't think the entire school _combined_ has ended up there as much as you," Ron pointed out.

"That's because Harry is a reckless imbecile with no regard for danger or the consequences of his actions," Hermione added in, her voice disapproving but there was a glimmer of fondness in her eyes.

"Ouch! Aren't you guys supposed to be nice to me now that I have cancer?" Harry complained, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, I don't think so."

"Out of luck, mate."

They all laughed.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry awoke on a dreary November day, the rain pattering against the window while grey clouds rolled across the sky. Despite the heating charms cast throughout the castle, it still felt like the chill was able to penetrate through the walls. The dorm was completely empty save for himself; Ron never woke him on the weekends because 'he didn't have the heart to wake such an adorable sleeping angel.' In reality, it was because Ron knew he never slept well and wanted him to get as much rest as possible. It was a nice gesture and all, but sleeping through half his Saturdays was beginning to get annoying. He'd missed practically every Hogsmeade weekend so far that year.

Lying there on his side for awhile, Harry just watched the rain make patterns down the window while the occasional flash of lightning lit up the sky, his groggy mind not yet making coherent thought. He was shivering underneath his heavy duvet and no matter how tightly he pulled it around him, he could not get warm. He sniffled and coughed into his hand, feeling his chest constrict tightly. He wondered if he was catching another cold and if he would need to go see Madam Pomfrey again for a cure. He was in the hospital wing more often than not these days, and Madam Pomfrey had already threatened more than once about making him a permanent resident there.

_'Oh, God, I can't imagine that horror.'_

Sitting up and allowing the blankets to fall off of him, Harry placed his face in his hands and groaned. He was now 100% sure that he had a cold. He was getting _really_ sick of those. Healer Camden hadn't been exaggerating when he said he'd be getting ill a lot more frequently now (he was easily on his fifth cold in the past month). Glancing up at the window again, the rain was now beating relentlessly against the cold, grey sky. He shivered violently, feeling the cold practically seeping into his skin from where he sat. He really hoped that the weather would clear up soon because he didn't fancy playing the first Quidditch match of the season in that mess.

At that thought, Harry felt his stomach knot up with slight nervousness. It had been a long time since he had felt truly nervous over a match, but this time was a special case. Oddly, it was Ron who had pitched a proper fit over finding out that he was still intending to play despite his condition. It had taken at least an hour for Harry to argue him down. Hermione, despite also being wary about it, had been helpful in convincing Ron to let him play. ("We can't just force him to stop doing things, Ron," Hermione had reasoned).

It's not to say that Hermione didn't still worry, but she seemed to have calmed down quite a bit after some adjustment to the whole situation. She no longer tried to force Harry to do or not to do certain things, only making gentle suggestions instead. Harry figured it was because she was realizing he only had a couple more months left at best, and she wanted him to enjoy it as much as he could. Those kinds of thoughts always struck Harry hard, because it forced him into the harsh reality of his impending death (which was a topic he often refused to acknowledge). He was starting to realize just how many things he'd already done for the last time, which certainly gave a very strange and eerie perspective to his life. There was so _much_ would never do again, and there wasn't enough time left in his life to make sure he could.

 _'Ah, dreary thoughts for a dreary day,'_ Harry shook his head at himself.

Sliding off the bed, Harry started towards the bathroom but he instantly doubled over in pain, clutching at his hip. Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry tried to breathe through the pain, his teeth grit together. The throbbing felt like a thousand tiny splinters all poking into his hip bone at once and it was rendering him immobile. He didn't know how long he had stood hunched over like that, but by the time he finally felt he could move again, he was covered in sweat and he felt drained of energy.

_'Bloody hell, I'll never get used to that.'_

Moving a bit slow and shakily, Harry decided to skip the shower and simply get dressed. He put on a particularly heavy jumper Mrs. Weasley had knitted for him, thinking it would help bring some warmth back into his freezing body. Conjuring some tissues and blowing his nose into them, Harry headed down to the common room. He was somewhat surprised to see Ron and Hermione were sitting there. He'd half expected them to be off doing something else with their Saturday. Then again, they'd effectively turned themselves into Harry's shadows and rarely did anything without him these days (even more so than before, that is).

"Oh, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence!" Ron said upon spotting Harry. Harry just rolled his eyes and smiled.

"Did you get enough sleep, Harry?" Hermione asked as he moved to sit down in one of the armchairs.

"Yeah, more than usual, actually," Harry replied, wrapping his arms around himself when his body continued to wrack with shivers. At noticing there was no fire going, Harry took out his wand and aimed an _incendio_ at the fireplace. It roared to life and the heat spread throughout the room instantly, making Harry feel like he was sinking into a nice, warm bath.

"I made you some tea, Harry," Hermione caught his attention and Harry looked over to her. She was pushing a steaming cup of tea across the table towards him. It was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

"I could kiss you, Hermione," Harry said, leaning over to take it. If anything, the warmth of it in his hands was better than actually drinking it.

"Hey, hey, you better keep your lips off my girl, Harry," Ron said in mock jealousy, drawing Hermione closer to him with one arm.

"Afraid she might like it too much and leave you?" Harry grinned. He didn't miss the way Hermione flushed terribly at that.

"Says the guy who made a girl cry with his kissing," Ron snorted.

"Hey! It wasn't my _kissing_ that made her cry!" Harry defended, his cheeks getting a bit warm. "She just...happened to be crying while we kissed."

"Still not exactly an impressive track record with kissing girls," Ron said, reaching over to pat Harry on the shoulder sympathetically. "So, I have nothing to fear."

"My friends are against me, I swear," he muttered as he took a grumpy sip from his tea. Hermione must have cast a warming charm on it because it was still piping hot as it slid down his throat. In that moment, he was certain he'd never tasted anything so divine in his life. Tea had quickly become Harry's best friend since getting ill and it was something he indulged in several times a day; most likely because it was one of the few things that didn't make him want to vomit. He didn't know how he had never noticed just how amazing tea was before.

"How are you feeling today?" Hermione tread the question lightly. It was something Harry was asked at least ten times a day and it was never certain when it would set him off into one of his 'moods.' Fortunately, Harry was in a complacent mood that day.

"Not too bad," Harry half lied. He wouldn't exactly call today an amazing day, but he'd certainly experienced worse. "Just got a bit of a cold. I'll see Pomfrey about it before the game."

"Right, about the game-"

"Hermione, I thought we already settled this," Harry sighed with frustration. "I'm going to play, alright? I'll be _fine._ "

"I know, I know," Hermione appeased before Harry's temper could rise. "I was just going to suggest a few precautions."

"Oh," Harry laughed awkwardly. "What kind of precautions?"

"Well, from the looks of it, it's going to be raining during the game," Hermione started, flicking her gaze out the window for a second. "I was thinking of casting a heating charm on you so you don't get ill."

"Is that allowed?" Ron asked curiously. "I mean, I guess it's not exactly cheating, is it?"

"The rules on using charms during Quidditch matches are a bit vague," Hermione replied, "but it's not like it's giving Harry an advantage or hindering the other team in any way. I cleared it with Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall to be sure."

"Think you can case one of those on me as well, then?" Ron asked hopefully.

Hermione just rolled her eyes. "A little rain won't do _you_ any harm, Ron."

"Fine, but if I catch a cold so horrible that it kills me, just know it's your fault," Ron huffed.

"Oh, alright, you big drama queen," Hermione sighed.

Ron beamed. "I knew there was a reason I was dating you."

"For my extensive knowledge of useful spells to help you play Quidditch?" Hermione arched a brow.

"Basically-ow!" Ron rubbed the back of his head where Hermione had swatted him. Harry just snorted into his tea, averting his eyes to the ceiling when Ron sent a glare his way.

"Anyway, Harry, don't you think you should head down to the infirmary?" Hermione turned to him. "You'll have to start getting ready for the game soon."

Harry nodded, downing the rest of his still-hot tea. He didn't know why he didn't use that heating charm more often himself. It was insanely useful. "Yeah, I'll go now."

"Do you want us to come with you?" Ron asked, already making to get out of his seat. Harry stopped him with a wave of his hand, though.

"No, it's alright. I think I can handle this one on my own," Harry said. "I'll see you in the locker room."

"Alright, but if I find out you've skived off going to the infirmary, you're going to get it," Hermione warned, half joking, half serious.

"Trust me, Hermione, I don't want to have this cold during the game," Harry assured her with a laugh. This seemed to have placated Hermione, because she smiled and nodded.

"Alright, see you in a bit, then."

"See you in a bit."

xxxxx

After going over the game plan once more, and giving a quick pep talk, Harry led his team out onto the Quidditch pitch. The rain was coming down harder than ever, the clouds so dense that it almost appeared to be night time. Despite his Quidditch robes soaking through instantly, Harry only felt a pleasant warmth radiating throughout his body, thanks to Hermione's heating charm. That combined with the Pepper Up potion Pomfrey had given him, Harry now was actually feeling pretty confident about the game.

The Slytherins were already out on the pitch, most of them appearing quite disgruntled and surly as usual. Besides their captain, Urquhart, the Slytherin team was comprised of completely new team members, many of the previous ones having gone into hiding due to the whole 'affiliating with Death Eaters' thing. The Slytherin house as a whole had suffered quite a loss, their numbers extremely small compared to the rest of the houses. Most had chosen simply not to return to Hogwarts after the battle.

After shaking hands with Urquhart, they all mounted their brooms and waited as the Bludgers and the snitch were released first. They zoomed off in varying directions, practically disappearing into the misty atmosphere. As soon as the whistle sounded and the Quaffle was thrown into the air, they were off. The sound of the crowd was completely drowned out by the roar of the rain and wind in Harry's ears as he shot high into the sky. His surroundings were a blur of green and red as the players zipped around him, the downpour making it almost impossible to see anything, let alone a tiny golden snitch. In regards to a promise he'd made to Hermione to take it easy, he remained hovering high near the stands for a majority of the first twenty minutes, eyes darting around in an attempt to spot the snitch from there. However, he was forced to loop back when a Bludger came soaring in his direction, very nearly colliding with the tail end of his broom.

Changing locations, Harry looked up in time to see Ginny throw the Quaffle through the Slytherin's goal post. _Yes!_ He pumped his fist into the air triumphantly and grinned. They were already off to a good start. The Slytherin's new team seemed to be a bit inexperienced and lacked the skills the Gryffindor team had. The only ones with any competency seemed to be Urquhart and their new seeker, who was quite agile and quick.

Harry was suddenly jostled when another player nearly rammed straight into him, and he managed to avoid it just barely enough so only their shoulders collided. He was sent veering off to the side, body nearly toppling right off of his broom. Gripping his broom hard, Harry straightened out and pulled himself to a stop, panting hard. His vision suddenly went double and Harry blinked rapidly, not understanding why he suddenly felt so dizzy and disoriented. He didn't think the Slytherin player had hit him _that_ hard.

In an attempt to clear his head, he flew off, ignoring how badly his body was trembling. He'd almost caused three more collisions as he wound through the tangle of players, his uncooperative eyesight making it difficult to see them clearly. After very nearly flying head on into Dean, Harry decided to move higher so he was out of the way of everyone else. Now hovering far above the pitch, Harry was able to look down at the entire game from this vantage point. To him, it looked like the entire pitch was swirling, and just watching it was making him so dizzy that he had to hyper focus on the simple act of staying upright on his broom.

The rational part of his mind told him he needed to call a time out or forfeit the game because he clearly wasn't doing so well. However, he was afraid if he did that, McGonagall would think he couldn't handle playing Quidditch and would pull him from the team. Deciding he was probably making a big deal over nothing, Harry pushed through the discomfort and continued to search for the snitch while sitting there on his broom. He figured if he kept still as much as possible, the dizziness would eventually pass.

When he finally spotted something fluttering in the distance, Harry's heart skipped a beat and he surged forward in hot pursuit. The rain whipped against him and he felt a copious amount of wetness sliding down his face. His focus remained on the little golden ball, which he was fast closing in on. _'Almost there. Just a bit more!'_ Eyes blurring again, Harry ended up snatching at nothing but air, the snitch flying around several inches away from his hand. Before he could make another attempt at catching it, it zipped off in the complete opposite direction.

Cursing in frustration, Harry zoomed after it, wiping the rain on his face away furiously. It was when he pulled his hand back that he realized, a bit too late, that the wetness from before was not entirely from the rain, but also from the blood profusely pouring out of his nose. Staring in horror at his blood soaked gloves, Harry was hit with a wave of nausea so intense that he vomited all over himself right there in mid-air. _'Oh...that's not good,'_ he thought a bit deliriously. Suddenly more tired than he'd ever been in his life and wanting nothing more than to lie down, he found himself leaning forward against his broom. Too weak to make any attempt at staying awake and his vision going dark, Harry's eyes started to slip closed.

As he rested his cheek against the handle of his broom, Harry was vaguely aware of someone screaming his name, though he was confused as to why that would be. When his eyes closed completely, he only barely registered his body sliding off the broom before he plummeted to the ground, already unconscious.

xxxxx

When he came into consciousness, the first thing he became aware of was a set of voices whispering around him. His mind was too muddled to differentiate them or figure out who they belonged to. From where he laid, his body felt like it was swirling and sinking, caught between staying awake or falling back into blissful darkness. Just when he started to drift away again, Harry was forcefully pulled back into awareness when the voices grew louder, and he unwillingly pried his eyes open. A cold dread seized hold of his body when he saw a dark, faceless figure looming directly over him. Giving a strangled yell, he threw his arm out to protect himself and attempted to roll away from the figure. He was caught by a pair of cold hands that pinned down to the bed. Struggling ineffectually, Harry saw more figures standing around his bed, all staring at him with their featureless, terrifying faces. The hands pinning him down became painful, nearly crushing his arms into the bed. When he looked up into the face of their owner, he saw a pair of glowing red eyes staring back from underneath the black cloak.

Harry screamed.

"Harry!"

"HARRY!"

Harry jolted violently, his eyes snapping open as he sucked into a terrified breath. Adrenaline searing through his veins, he continued thrashing and screaming, doing everything he could to get the assailant off of him.

"Someone do something before he hurts himself!"

Suddenly, there was a pair of arms wrapped tightly around him, pinning his arms down to his sides. Harry instantly froze, his heart beating wildly in fear. He tried to wrench himself free from the hold, but the other person was far stronger than him. Body rapidly growing fatigued, Harry's efforts slowly dwindled until he was left trembling in the nameless person's arms. When he felt the hot slide of tears down his cheeks, he realized that he was crying. He let out a choked sob and shook his head wildly, giving another weak attempt at getting away.

"Harry, it's alright," the person whispered into his hear. They had their chin rested over his shoulder, their hands gripping tightly at the back of his shirt as they kept him held against their chest.

After what felt like hours, Harry's heart slowly started to slow down and the constriction in his chest eased, allowing him to breathe again. Still shaking, and still afraid, Harry closed his eyes and practically went slack against the person holding him. They just continued to murmur softly into his ear, their hands remaining tightly fisted in his shirt as if afraid he would be taken away. When the fog of his terrified mind began to lift, Harry realized that he recognized the voice talking to him. It was warm and familiar.

"Ron..." Harry croaked out.

"Yeah, mate," they replied, drawing him closer. "It's me. It's alright. You were just dreaming again."

"I thought you were-"

"I know. I know, it's okay," Ron said in a soothing whisper, his hold getting a little tighter at that. Their embrace was so close that Harry could feel the frantic beat of Ron's heart. "I don't know _why,_ though; I mean, I at least have a nose."

Harry half laughed, half sobbed in response.

Finally opening his eyes again, a fresh stream of tears spilled down his face as he looked around. For the first time since waking, he registered that he had somehow ended up on the floor. The struggle had been a particularly violent one judging by the state of the hospital wing, which had bedding, pillows, and other medical equipment strewn about wildly. Hermione was kneeling next to them, her chin trembling in an obvious effort not to cry, but there were tears rapidly building in her eyes. Pomfrey and McGonagall came to his attention last, both of whom were standing off to the side, observing the scene with concern and sadness. With horror and shame, Harry realized that they had witnessed the whole thing. The only people he was ever even remotely comfortable with seeing him like that were Ron and Hermione, and even then he much preferred that they didn't.

He didn't know how long they had stayed there on the floor like that, with Ron holding him so tightly that parts of Harry's body was starting to go numb. When they finally broke apart, Ron was smiling, but the redness in his eyes betrayed the fact that he too had been crying. Harry, once again, felt guilty for worrying his friends. They already had so much on their plates, and it seemed he just kept adding stuff on. He just didn't know how to _fix_ this.

"What happened?" he finally dared to ask, rubbing at his tears with his hand.

"You don't remember?" Hermione asked him, eyebrows raising. "You fell off your broom during the Quidditch match."

"Did I?" Harry frowned. He recalled chasing after the snitch, and then after that it all became an incomprehensible blur.

"You got sick all over yourself and then you just dropped like a rock," Ron explained, his voice shaking a bit and his more serious the usual. "You're bloody lucky Dean was so close by. He managed to catch you."

"Does that mean we lost?" Harry asked, his stomach sinking. He couldn't believe he'd botched up the very first match of the season.

"You find out you nearly died and you're more concerned about the match." Ron gave a quiet laugh. "Yeah, we had to forfeit the game, obviously. Lucky for the Slytherins too because they were getting _creamed_ before that."

Harry groaned and put his face in his hands. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't worry about it," Ron waved off Harry's concern. "We've got plenty of other games."

"Yes, about that," McGonagall finally spoke up, stepping forward. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to pull you from the team, Mr. Potter."

Harry's head jerked up at that and his eyes went wide. " _What?_ No, you can't, Professor! Please!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but it's clear that you are not fit to play," McGonagall said firmly, though her eyes had softened in sympathy. "It's for your own safety. Goodness knows, I should have never allowed you to play in the first place but you insisted you were in good enough health."

"But I-"

"You will _not_ argue with me on this, Potter."

Harry looked to Ron and Hermione for help, but they were both looking back at him with so much worry on their faces that he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Shame burned at his cheeks and he averted his eyes down so he didn't have to see those expressions anymore. Pressing his lips together, he nodded wordlessly in reluctant agreement. On the inside, his heart was painfully sinking with disappointment. One of the few things that he still truly and genuinely enjoyed was being stripped away from him. It was so unfair and he felt so cheated out of _life_ that he felt tears pricking up in his eyes again.

"As for your lessons, we feel it's in your best interest to take the next week or so off," McGonagall continued. "Both Madam Pomfrey and Healer Camden are worried the continued stress might have a negative impact on your health."

"But what about NEWTs?" Harry demanded.

Everyone exchanged glances at that, and Harry knew what they were all thinking. They were thinking he was too weak and fragile to handle the 'stress' of studying for them. They were thinking there was no point because he wasn't even going to be there to take the exams. Frowning, Harry felt anger stirring in his chest and his hands balled at his sides.

"So, is that it then? I'm just the dying kid now?" he said, his voice raising. "No point in doing anything because it's not long before I croak, isn't that right?"

"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall said sharply, her expression a cross between horror and shock. "That is not what any of us said and you know it. You need to calm yourself."

"No!" Harry said, his chest rising and falling fast with his rapidly building anger. "It's all of _you_ who need to back off! I'm tired of being treated like I'm going to break apart at the simplest thing! I've had so much taken away from me already but of course that's not enough, is it? I'm having my entire _life_ taken away right before my eyes!"

The tears were falling unabated now, and he was breathing so fast that he became dizzy and felt like he was going to puke.

"Harry-"

 _"Just leave me alone!"_ Harry yelled, struggling to stand. He had to get away from everyone.

As soon as he was on his feet, the ground tilted from under him and he very nearly tipped over. Ron was at his side in an instant, grabbing hold of his arm to steady him. Harry just violently wrenched himself out of his grip and leaned his hand against the wall for support. He was breathing hard, his stomach was rolling with nausea, and his nose was bleeding again but he was so angry that he didn't _care_. Wiping furiously at the tears and blood on his face, Harry pointedly kept his gaze averted from the group of people gathered around him. They were all standing still, shocked into silence and unsure of what to do. After awhile, they seemingly gave in, because he heard a few soft sighs and the sound of retreating footsteps.

When the door closed behind them, Harry finally looked over his shoulder and saw that everyone had gone except for Madam Pomfrey. She didn't say anything, though, just went about tidying up his bed for him. When she was finished, she gave him an encouraging, but sad, smile before walking into the back room to give him privacy. When the pressing silence of the empty infirmary fell around him, Harry suddenly felt truly and utterly alone. The anger was still there, but it was now mixed with a painful, unbearable depression. With the burn of fresh tears pushing incessantly at his eyes, Harry sat down on his bed and hunched over, burying his face into his hands.

_'Why is everything so messed up right now?'_

The silence was the only response.


	10. Chapter 10

"There, all set," Healer Camden announced. "Are you comfortable?"

Harry looked down at the strange set of tubes attached to a port inside of his chest, located just beneath his collar bone. Healer Camden had called it a 'central venous catheter,' and it was meant to send medicine directly into his veins. Fortunately, magic allowed Camden to insert the port and catheter without any pain or discomfort on Harry's part. That didn't stop Harry from feeling vaguely weirded out by the idea of it being inside of him, though. It was the first time in a long time he'd received any kind of treatment the muggle way. Their methods were strangely impersonal and invasive.

"It's a bit weird," Harry said, gently prodding one of the tubes. He thought he looked like some kind of science experiment.

"I agree, I'll never understand muggle medicine," Camden chuckled. "It'd taken us several days to get down mechanics of how IVs work. Such a strange concept."

"Is this really the only way we can do this?" Harry asked, still trying to wrap his head around the notion of being treated the muggle way. He was sure Healer Camden was finding it just as strange as he was.

"I'm afraid so," Camden sighed. "This new form of treatment is more direct than the previous ones. Potions weren't working because you couldn't keep them down and wands alone don't seem to have any effect."

"What's the new treatment, anyway?" Harry asked dubiously. Part of him was glad he no longer had to choke down awful tasting potions, but the other part of him had a feeling this wasn't going to be pleasant either.

"It's a concoction my team and I formulated," Camden answered, lifting up a strange looking bag filled with clear fluid. "We took the muggle treatment for cancer and infused it with magic. It should attack both the cancer and the curse causing it. It took a few months to perfect it."

"Will it actually work?" Harry asked, not daring to get his hopes up. So far, all of their efforts had been in vain.

"I won't lie to you, Harry," Camden responded. "There's a good chance this disease might never go away. Our goal right now is just to _manage_ it. However..."

Harry's stomach knotted up at that. "However...?"

"Even if we were able to do that," Camden continued, looking a bit uncomfortable, "it would only give you a few more years at best. The curse's nature is to kill, and it's doing everything it can to break your body down. Even if we slowed its progression, it's very likely you still wouldn't live to your early 20s."

"Oh," was all Harry could manage to say. He knew he was upset, but for some reason his brain was blocking the emotion off.

"I don't want to discourage you, Harry," Camden said, reaching out to give Harry's shoulder a squeeze. "We're still going to work tirelessly to find a cure, but you need to be aware of the probabilities."

"Yeah, I understand," Harry said numbly with a feeble nod. "Thank you."

"Good lad," Camden added with another squeeze. "Let's get you set up with your first round of treatment."

Harry just nodded again, blankly staring down at his lap. The only thing he could think about was how scratchy and thin his blankets were. Whenever another thought started to enter his mind, it immediately floated away into nothingness. He figured it was his brain trying to shut down. He couldn't blame it, either, seeing as it'd had dealt with a lot lately. He just wished the rest of him would shut down too. Harry was only vaguely aware of Camden moving around him. He set up the bag of liquid on a pole next to his bed and started connecting the tube leading from the bag to Harry's catheter.

"Now, the muggle medicine, called chemotherapy, is known for it's...ah, rather unpleasant side effects," Camden said when he was done attaching the IV. "We've magically altered it a bit to alleviate some of those side effects."

"What kind of side effects are they?" Harry asked, finally managing to coalesce a coherent thought.

"Some of the most common ones are nausea, fatigue, diarrhea or constipation, and hair loss," Camden informed.

Harry's head snapped up. " _Hair_ loss?"

"Don't worry, Harry," Camden consoled. "Like I said, we altered the treatment so you won't experience those side effects to a serious degree."

"But I'll still experience them?" Harry frowned.

"Perhaps a few," Camden said with an encouraging smile. "The magical properties require a very delicate balance with the muggle medicine. We didn't want to upset the balance too much in case it decreased its effectiveness."

"Oh, that's just great," Harry groaned, flopping back onto his pillow. "I'm going to be bald."

Camden laughed at him. "No you won't, Harry. Even if you did start losing hair, we can reverse the effects."

"Oh, well, good," Harry blinked, looking over at Camden. For some reason, the idea of losing his hair had been more horrific than anything else he'd dealt with so far. He didn't want to die _and_ look like an alien.

"If you feel any discomfort during the course of treatment, let Madam Pomfrey know," Camden said as he checked the IV to make sure it was working properly. "Otherwise, it should only take an hour or so to finish."

"Okay," Harry nodded. Inwardly, he was dreading having to spend an hour in the infirmary three times a week getting treatments.

"In the mean time, you can read a book or do some homework," Camden said, turning to him. Then he started looking around as if he'd just noticed something missing. "Where are your two friends, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger? They're usually here with you, aren't they?"

Harry felt like something had just kicked him in the chest and he turned his gaze downward. "We're kind of not talking right now."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Camden said with sympathetic eyes. "I'm sure whatever's going on, you three will work it out. I know a good friendship when I see one."

Camden gave him a pat on the shoulder and then walked out of the room, leaving Harry to his thoughts. Harry's hands curled into his blankets, eyes closing as he tried to ignore the burning pain in his chest. He hadn't talked to Ron or Hermione in almost two days and of course, it was all his fault. They were respecting his request to be left alone, and probably hated him on top of that. He hadn't exactly treated them well the last time they'd talked.

Laying back again, Harry turned his attention towards the IV. He watched the way the clear fluid dripped down into the tube little by little. It was oddly hypnotizing, and his head started emptying of all thoughts until he was only aware of the dripping. He must have been staring at it like that for a long time, because the next thing he realized, the dripping had stopped and the bag was empty.

At the sound of rain, Harry turned his gaze over to the window and watched it patter against the glass for what could have been a minute or an hour. The rain reminded him that everything was continuing on as it always did, even though Harry was lying in bed, dying. It was strange to realize that the world would keep going even after he was gone. The only difference was he wouldn't be around to experience it. Sitting up, Harry quietly disconnected the IV from his catheter and slid out of bed. The ground was ice cold under his bare feet, but he walked over to the window anyway.

Stopping in front of the window, Harry's eyes followed the rain. He became fascinated by the trails of water against the pane of glass, and he reached a finger out to trace over them. The patterns that formed were oddly beautiful, something he had never taken time to notice before.

_'Would the world notice my absence?'_

Turning the latch, Harry pushed the window open and was hit with a gust of cold air. The rain splattered lightly against his face and he blinked when a few raindrops attached to his lashes. They felt heavy like tears. Slowly, he stuck his hands out the window and started catching the rain in his palms. The coldness of the water shocked his system back to life. The numbness from before faded away until he was suddenly seeing and feeling _everything._ The bite of the wind, the water on his skin, the taste of rain, the smell of damp earth, the cold. In that moment, he loved the cold more than anything.

Climbing onto the windowsill, Harry leaned farther out into the rain so he could feel it on his face and in his hair. His clothing became soaked and his body started to shiver, but he didn't mind. If he was feeling anything at all, that meant he wasn't dead yet. He inhaled deeply, feeling the fresh, clean air opening up his lungs, and for the first time in what felt like days, he could _breathe._

"What the bloody hell are you doing?!"

Harry jumped in surprise and nearly tumbled right out the window. Fortunately, someone grabbed him around the waist before he could fall to his death and hauled him back into the infirmary. Soaking wet and breathing hard now, Harry turned to see Ron staring down at him with impossibly wide, horrified eyes.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Ron yelled at him, making Harry take a step back in alarm.

"Uh-"

"Just because you've stopped caring, doesn't mean WE have!"

"Ron I-"

"How could you be so selfish?! What about me and Hermione, huh? Did you even THINK about how this would effect us?"

"I don't-"

"You're supposed to be a fighter! The bloody savior of the wizarding world! You can't just give up like that! We can work through this, damn it!"

"RON!" Harry yelled over his ranting, effectively cutting the other boy off. "Seriously, what are you on about?"

"What am I on about?" Ron repeated in exasperation and disbelief, nearly yelling again. "I'm on about you trying to jump out the bloody window, that's what!"

Harry blinked a few times before snorting. Surely Ron of all people would know how absurd that sounded. "Oh my God, Ron, you idiot, I was just watching the rain."

Ron's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. " _Watching_ the _rain_? With nearly your entire body hanging out the window?"

"It did look really bad, Harry," Hermione said from beside him, taking Harry by surprise. Considering Ron had pretty much accosted all of his attention with his little tirade, Harry hadn't even noticed she was in the room until just then.

"Oh, I didn't realize I'd leaned so far out," Harry said, an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. "I'm sorry."

"So you really weren't trying to throw yourself out the window?" Ron asked, eyeing Harry with uncertainty.

"No, Ron, I really wasn't," Harry said with a small laugh. "I promise. I don't want everyone to remember me as a pancake."

Ron relaxed a little and nodded. "Alright, good. I was this close to beating your skinny little arse, you know that?"

"I kind of gathered as much," Harry smiled. "You've never been good with subtly."

"What were you doing out in the rain like that, anyway?" Hermione asked, taking a step closer.

"It just felt good," Harry responded with a shrug. He didn't expect Hermione to understand that. "Needed some fresh air, I guess."

"Well, be more careful next time, alright?" Hermione said with a hint of concern. "You could get really sick doing that."

Harry's smile dropped into a frown. Unsurprisingly, Hermione's words had struck him the wrong way. All of the negative emotions that had washed away in the rain were returning like a vicious flood. He'd been dragged back into the cruel reality of his illness and reminded that there were so many things he couldn't do anymore. Any time he started to feel a shred of happiness, someone slammed him with the fact that he was sick. His life had basically become a cage, where his only purpose was to stay alive and nothing else.

"I just wanted to, okay?" Harry replied, trying his best to keep his voice even. "I felt like I was going to go crazy lying in bed all day."

"Oh, well you-"

"And you know what else?" Harry's voice raised, cutting Hermione off. His efforts at keeping his anger under control had failed spectacularly. He had foolishly thought everything had gone back to normal. But they hadn't; the issues that had started to surface the other day were still there and still very raw. "I shouldn't have to explain my every action to _you_ or anyone else. I'm an adult, Hermione, meaning I can do whatever the hell I want!"

"Hey, back off, Harry," Ron interjected, stepping between him and Hermione. "Hermione's just worried about you. We all are!"

"Well, just _STOP!_ " Harry yelled, shoving Ron roughly in the chest, causing Hermione to gasp. "I'm _sick_ of it!"

Ron stumbled back and stared at him in shock. Harry's wild and sudden mood change had taken everyone off guard. Ron's ears were turning red, indicating that he was starting to get angry. _Good._ Harry wanted them to get angry They needed to understand just how messed up the entire situation was. He wanted them to feel what he was feeling.

"Harry..." Ron said in a low, warning voice.

"What, Ron?" Harry said, breathing hard as he shoved his friend again. He was antagonizing him on purpose and he knew it. He tried to will himself to stop but it was far too late for that. "Got something to say like you always do?"

Ron was obviously trying his best to ignore Harry's baiting, but his face was completely red and his fists were trembling at his sides in anger. Harry briefly wondered if Ron might actually hit him, and there was an insane part of his brain that wanted him to. He was just so _angry_ and he wanted to feel something else for a change. He just wanted to feel better.

"Harry, please calm down," Hermione said in a trembling voice. She almost sounded afraid.. "We're your friends. We just want to help."

Harry rounded on her. The tears in her eyes did nothing to abate his anger. If anything, it only made him angrier; he just failed to realize in time that it was at himself and not Hermione. "Do you really think you're helping by turning me into a prisoner of my illness? Is that what friends do? For someone so smart, you can be really stupid sometimes, Hermione."

That seemed to do the trick. Ron was on him in an instant grabbing Harry by the front of his shirt and slamming him roughly against the wall. "You better watch your mouth, _Harry_."

"RON!"

"No, Hermione!" Ron seethed, still glaring at Harry. "I want to know what the hell his problem is!"

Harry flinched as his entire back erupted in pain. He wouldn't be surprised if it had bruised instantly on impact. Ron seemed to have noticed this as well because he immediately let go of Harry. His glare remained in place, though and he still looked absolutely livid. Harry just slumped against the wall, gasping for breath as used a trembling hand to wipe saliva away from his mouth. He couldn't catch his breath and he was hurting all over. Why couldn't he _breathe_? Before he knew it, a hot wave of tears started trailing down his face.

"The problem is..." Harry said hoarsely. "I'm dying. I'm _dying._ "

Ron's glare faltered as if that answer had been unexpected. "That's no reason to treat us like we're the enemy, Harry."

"You don't understand!" Harry yelled, bordering on hysterics now. "You two act like you know what's going on but you don't know a THING about it!"

"Then tell us, Harry!" Ron yelled back. "We're trying to be your friends here, but you're making it really bloody difficult!"

Harry's chest felt like it was about to burst wide open. All of the things he had been keeping inside had compacted into a large, uncomfortable lump that was trying to force its way up his throat. He desperately tried to swallow it down, tried to bury it so deep that he never had to face what was there. But there was too much of it and there wasn't enough room inside of him to hold all of it anymore. Before he could stop it, everything began spilling out like a tidal wave.

"I SHOULDN'T BE DYING!" he screamed, his voice cracking with so much despair even he could hear it. His words hung heavily in the air like unwelcome presence. "...I shouldn't be dying. I defeated Voldemort, that should have been the end of it! It shouldn't be like this. It's not fair _._ It's just not _fair_."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispered next to him. There were tears streaming down her face and she looked completely heart broken. "We know. It really is unfair."

"I'd come to terms with dying at Voldemort's hand. I'd accepted it. I was ready for it," Harry choked out, barely able to talk over his sobbing now. "But this...I'm not ready to die like this. I'm _scared._ "

Ron suddenly yanked Harry into a tight embrace, though the only thing Harry could do was release a trembling breath. He was still shaking and he felt strangely empty without all of that locked up inside of him. Everything that had been plaguing him for the past couple of months was finally out in the open. He'd tried so hard to deny the reality of the situation, despite it staring him right in the face every day. He'd refused to believe that he was dying because that wasn't how it was supposed to be. He'd fulfilled the prophecy; Voldemort had died which meant he could finally live. He'd _won_. It wasn't right that things were ending this way. He was supposed to finally get a chance at a real life. He'd _earned_ it. It was like the ultimate cosmic joke.

"I'm scared too," Ron whispered into his shoulder. Harry thought he felt something hot and wet dripping against his neck. "I don't want to lose my best mate."

Harry could feel the rapid beating of Ron's heart. Or maybe it was his own? He couldn't tell them apart anymore, they felt exactly the same. The sound was oddly soothing, reminding him that he was still part of the world. He'd never appreciated the beauty and importance of a heart beat until just then. It was so delicate and fragile but it was the reason they were alive.

_'I'm alive. I'm still alive.'_

When Hermione walked over, Ron merely pulled her in against them. They stood there like that, wrapped around each other like nothing else existed outside of their embrace. They were clinging to Harry just as much as Harry was clinging to them. It was the only thing they could do now to keep from falling. Everything was so terrifying and messed up, but for the time being, it didn't matter. Ron and Hermione were there. _He_ was still there.

His heart continued beating.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry decided that he really liked music. It was one of those normal teenager things he'd never truly had the chance to experience before. Almost everyone else could name at least 10 favorite bands off the top of their heads, while Harry couldn't name a single one. It was strange to realize just how much of his life had been dominated by the war. It hadn't been as obvious back then because it'd simply become his way of life. Yet, with everything returning to normal now, he was being smacked in the face with just how _much_ he'd missed out on.

So, with that in mind, one day Harry sat down in front of the radio and switched it on. Ever since, he'd practically became glued to the thing. It seemed like the only time he wasn't listening to music was when he was in lessons. He'd even started taking the radio into the infirmary so he could listen to it during treatments. It made the whole process a lot more bearable - Healer Camden and Madam Pomfrey seemed to enjoy it as well.

Ron had claimed that Harry was becoming a man obsessed, but neither he or Hermione had the heart to take the radio away from him. Everyone in Gryffindor had started calling it 'Harry's radio' because he always had it with him.

In fact, he was currently lying in bed while listening to it, his fingers gently tapping to the beat against the mattress. Harry had discovered that he liked the upbeat songs the best. He liked to imagine the singer must have been really happy when they'd written it and that thought always made Harry feel good. The sadder songs made him think about his situation too much, but Harry was starting to think that might be a positive thing. It was difficult to explain, but it made him feel like he was finally connecting with the world, instead of totally detaching himself like he'd been doing for so long. It made him feel less lonely, which was a feeling he'd been experiencing a lot of lately.

Harry's attention was broken away from his radio when something was thrown over his head, blinding his vision. Shooting upright, he felt a seize of irrational panic. However, when he pulled the offending object off his head, he saw that it was only a heavy coat. With his eyebrows raised, he turned to Ron, who was standing over him with a grin on his face.

"C'mon, mate, we're going to Hogsmeade," he announced cheerfully. "You need to get your lazy bum some fresh air and exercise."

Harry just rolled his eyes and tossed the coat back at Ron playfully. "Alright, alright, just let me finish this song first."

Ron caught the coat after it smacked him in the face. "Figure out which ones are your favorites yet? I mean, you must have listened to a thousand songs by now."

Harry paused for a moment in thought. It should have been simple for him to name a few by now, but he found that he still couldn't. It wasn't like before, though, when he literally hadn't even known that many bands. Instead, he'd focused more on enjoying the music rather than picking out favorites. Honestly, he liked everything, from Celestina Warbeck to Lorcan d'Eath. They were all unique and interesting in their own way.

"Everything," Harry finally answered.

Ron looked perplexed for a moment. "Everything?"

"Yeah, I don't really have a favorite," Harry explained with a shrug. "I like them all."

"Makes sense to me," Ron laughed. "It'd sure make it easier to find a good song on the radio when you like it all."

"Exactly," Harry said as he stood up and switched off the radio. "Anyway, I'll be ready to go in a minute."

After rummaging through his trunk for a bit, Harry finally procured two long sleeve shirts and a thick, black jumper. He put all tree of them on underneath the coat and slipped two pairs of socks over his feet for good measure. He was finding it more and more difficult to stay warm as time went on, especially with December drawing near. He was always freezing, it seemed like, and it didn't help that he'd dropped a fair bit of weight. He could almost count all of his ribs individually now (he was glad for the excuse to wear so many layers, so Ron and Hermione wouldn't notice just how thin he was now).

"Are you sure you don't want to throw on another jumper or two?" Ron teased when Harry was dressed. "I don't think you're wearing enough clothes."

"If I put anymore on, I won't be able to walk," Harry laughed. He did feel quite bulky, but it was better than freezing to death.

"Good point," Ron responded as they walked out the door. "I can just imagine you waddling all the way to Hogsmeade."

They saw that Hermione was already waiting for them in the common room when they headed down. She was quite bundled up herself, with a fuzzy hat covering her bushy hair and one of Mrs. Weasley's scarves wrapped around her neck. Harry was glad he wasn't the only one who couldn't tolerate the cold. He'd never understand how Ron could go out in sub-freezing weather with only a jumper on.

"You two ready to go?" Hermione asked them with a smile.

"You bet! Harry's got his twelve jumpers on and everything!"

"It's not quite _twelve._ "

"Close enough." They laughed at him.

It was Harry's first Hogsmeade trip of the year, so he was feeling particularly excited to go. He usually ended up sleeping until mid-afternoon most weekends, and even when he finally did wake up, he always felt too horrid to go anywhere. Today was one of the rare days where he wasn't rendered crippled by pain or nausea.

He'd also been looking forward to spending some time with Ron and Hermione again. A lot of the tension they'd been carrying around for weeks had finally started to ease. They'd both stopped fretting so much, and Harry, in turn, learned to tolerate their concern a little more. He had to remind himself that it was _their_ way of dealing with things, not some attempt at making him miserable like he'd made it out to be. The blow up in the infirmary had proven to them that they were all struggling with the situation, and they needed each other to get through it. It may have taken a total breakdown, but they were now able to start building the pieces back up.

There was a slight drizzle falling from the steely grey sky when they stepped outside. The bitter November wind nipped at their cheeks and the remainder of the dying leaves broke off the trees and fluttered away. Harry was already shivering despite his many layers, but he was still enjoying the fresh air. It seemed like it'd been ages since he'd last stepped outside. Most of his days were spent in the infirmary or holed up in the library while he desperately tried to keep up with his coursework. Just the act of going _outside_ became something Harry had sorely taken for granted before becoming ill.

Hermione and Ron were immersed in a conversation as they walked. Over time, Harry had taken to noticing the couple's little quirks whenever they interacted with each other. Hermione always had this little smile on her face while talking to Ron, and Ron had picked up the habit of unconsciously twirling a strand of her hair around his finger. Harry thought it was actually kind of cute. It reassured him that they'd always have each other, even after he was gone. For that, he knew they'd be okay.

When they reached Hogsmeade, the first thing they did was head to Honeyduke's, because Harry had decided he needed a big package of treacle fudge. Ron, of course, never objected to a trip to Honeyduke's. It was just as busy and packed as always when the three of them stepped inside. They could barely squeeze themselves through the crowd; in fact, Harry's glasses had been knocked off his face by someone's elbow. It'd taken a few minutes of awkwardly searching through people's legs before Hermione was the one to finally find them. They were, miraculously, still in one piece.

"I swear, Harry, you lose these things so much, you really should consider switching to contacts," Hermione said as she set them on Harry's face.

"He can't just get rid of his glasses, Hermione," Ron said in mock horror. "They're part of his Boy-Who-Lived image! They're iconic!"

"All the more reason to get rid of them," Harry pointed out, turning his attention to a large jar of Chocoballs.

Suddenly deciding that treacle fudge wasn't going to be enough, Harry also grabbed some of the Chocoballs and a few of the sherbet balls next to them. He didn't stop there, though, and before he knew it, his arms were piled with Chocolate Frogs, Drooble's Gum, Pepper Imps, Crystallised Pineapple, Cauldron Cakes and everything else he could get his hands on. By the time he was finished, he could barely balance all of it and had to have Hermione carry some of it for him.

"Blimey, Harry, are you stocking up for the winter?" Ron asked, eyes wide with amazement.

"Not that I'm complaining, since you really need to eat more and all," Hermione said, looking perplexed, "but don't you think that's a bit much?"

"I dunno," Harry said with a shrug, looking down at his items. "Guess I just want to make sure I try everything again at least one more time."

It was the first time since the hospital wing incident that Harry had straight up acknowledged the fact that he was dying. He'd come to the realization that a big reason why things had gotten to the state they had, was because he'd been refusing to accept what was happening. With so much stuffed down inside of him, it'd been inevitable that things had reached a breaking point. After that day, he'd made a promise to himself to stop hiding from it so much. It was difficult and awkward, but oddly it made him feel a little better; a little lighter.

There was only a brief pause in which Ron and Hermione looked vaguely uncomfortable by Harry's statement, but it passed quickly.

"Well, in that case..." Ron started grabbing up things off the shelves too, making Harry and Hermione laugh.

"That just looks like a normal trip to Honeyduke's for you Ron," Harry pointed out.

"Which is why I know all the best things to try," Ron grinned, heading up to the front of the shop so they could pay for their items.

Harry ended up having to pay for most of it, which really wasn't that surprising seeing as Ron rarely had spare pocket change. He didn't mind, though. He liked doing things like that for his friends, and he figured there was no harm in having a little fun with his gold while he still had the chance. Buying a stone's worth of sweets probably hadn't been on the list of things his parents had intended the money to be used for but he was sure they would've understood. When they walked out of Honeyduke's, they were each carrying two bags packed full of sweets.

The rain was beating down hard now, so they made a run for The Three Broomsticks. Their attempts at protecting themselves from the rain had failed miserably, and by the time they got there, their hair was sopping wet and the legs of their jeans were soaked from splashing through puddles. The pub was just as busy as Honeyduke's had been, but at least they were out of the rain.

"Alright, you two find a table, I'll get the butterbeers," Harry said, slightly out of breath and pushing some wet hair out of his face.

While Hermione and Ron moved towards the back of the pub, Harry went to get their drinks. They felt pleasantly warm in his hands as he carried them back to their table. Ron and Hermione had managed to find one near the fireplace, which Harry was infinitely grateful for. After setting the butterbeers down, Harry moved his seat as close as possible to the fire, trying to get some warmth back into his frozen body. Though Ron and Hermione had gotten just as soaked as he had, they weren't shivering nearly as hard as he was. He could already feel the beginnings of a cold coming on.

"We really should make more bets over chess, Harry," Ron said, taking a big drink from his butterbeer. "I'd never have to buy butterbeer again."

"Ha, I don't think so," Harry responded, coughing softly into his arm. His throat felt really scratchy. "I've learned my lesson."

"But you need all the practice you can get!"

"No, I need to maintain my dignity," Harry arched a brow.

"Oh, well, you lost that ages ago, mate," Ron said teasingly. "It happened around the time you stuck your wand up a troll's nose."

Hermione snorted into her drink, spraying butterbeer all over the table and getting foam on her nose and chin. Harry and Ron both looked at her in surprise and then snickered. She flushed faint pink and wiped her face clean with the sleeve of her coat.

"You should've left it, Hermione," Harry said, holding back another snicker. "You look really good with a beard."

"Oh, shut up, Harry," Hermione responded while Ron roared with laughter.

Harry just smiled innocently and finally took a sip from his butterbeer. It was still quite warm, and felt good sliding down his scratchy throat. However, as soon as it hit his stomach, he was suddenly very nauseated. He could practically feel the butterbeer rolling and bubbling in his stomach. Groaning, he pushed the glass away from him and wrapped his arms around his middle. He was now wishing he'd stopped by Pomfrey before leaving to get an anti-nausea potion.

"You okay, Harry?" Hermione asked, her brown eyes full of concern.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. "My stomach just didn't agree with the butterbeer."

"Do you want to go back to the castle for a potion?"

"No, I'll be okay in a few," Harry responded with a weak smile. "Don't worry."

"Well, alright," Hermione conceded, obviously trying her hardest not to fret despite clearly wanting to. Harry was secretly very grateful for that.

However, as it turned out, he probably should have listened to Hermione. With a sudden flash of blinding light, Harry cried out in panic and recoiled reflexively as if expecting to be hit by some spell. Flashbacks and memories of the battle hit him like a fast moving reel and for a horrifying moment, he felt like he was back there again. He became aware that was calling his name but they sounded far away and his vision was still fuzzy from nearly being blinded.

Grabbing onto the table, Harry focused intently on the feel of the wood beneath his palms. Smooth, cool, _real_. It was real. He was still in the pub. Reality slowly settled over him and it allowed his frantic mind to calm down. When his vision finally cleared, he saw that it was Hermione, and she was looking at him worriedly. Head spinning with dizziness, Harry looked around for the source of the flash. What he found was worse than a whole horde of Death Eaters. Four reporters were crowding around his table, all shouting questions at him at the same time.

"Mr. Potter! I'm from the Daily Prophet, how about a quick word?"

"Were you thinking of the battle just now, Mr. Potter?"

"Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter! Over here! Could you share a few words about your defeat of You-Know-Who?"

"How about you Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger? Do you have anything to say about the infamous Battle of Hogwarts?"

"I-uh-"

Harry was feeling a bit dazed and disoriented from the flashing of the cameras and the bombardment of questions. Every time he tried to form words, he felt the contents of his stomach try to rise up in their place. Head pounding and stomach churning, Harry had to will himself not to pass out or throw up. He couldn't think of a worse thing that could possibly happen right then. As usual, it was proven that there was _always_ something worse that could happen. When something warm and wet started dripping down his upper lip, there were several gasps and another round of flashes. He brought a trembling hand up to his face and hurriedly tried to wipe the blood away.

"Alright, back off you, vultures!" Ron yelled angrily, knocking over his seat as he stood up. "He doesn't want to talk to any of you!"

Hermione was grabbing Harry by the shoulders, gently trying to guide him out of his seat. "Come on, Harry."

When Harry tried to stand, however, his legs started to shake and his knees gave way beneath him. Fortunately, Hermione caught him around the waist before he could hit the ground. She held onto him tightly as she maneuvered him away from the forming crowd.

"Mr. Potter! What's wrong? Are you ill? Does it have anything to do with You-Know-Who?"

Harry was vaguely aware of the snapping of more photographs, but he was too dizzy to fully understand what was going on. He just held onto Hermione and did his best not to pass out on her.

"Ron!" Hermione called urgently.

"Right!"

Ron was at Harry's other side in an instant, guiding his arm around his shoulders for support. Both he and Hermione wrapped their arms around his waist and carefully walked him out of the pub. They didn't make it very far before they heard the reporters chasing after them.

"Oh, they just don't quit do they!" Hermione cried in frustration.

Hermione suddenly whipped her wand out and spun around. With an expertly aimed spell, the reporters were knocked back and bound together by a securely tied rope. The more they struggled against the rope, the tighter it became around them. Smiling in satisfaction, Hermione put her wand away and turned back to the boys.

"Hermione, I don't think I can say this enough, but you're bloody brilliant," Ron said in awe.

"We need to be careful not to ever piss Hermione off," Harry said with a weak chuckle.

"That was hardly that impressive," Hermione said, though she was blushing a little.

Hermione took Harry's arm again and placed it around her shoulders. It was slow going, but they eventually made it back to the castle. By the time they got inside, Harry was shaking from the effort of walking such a seemingly long distance. He was coughing violently now, and there were a few times he thought for sure it was going to make him vomit. When he noticed that Ron and Hermione were trying to steer him towards the hospital wing, Harry shook his head frantically.

"No," he groaned. "I don't want to go there. Just take me back to the dorms."

"But..."

"Please?" he said, too tired to argue. "I just want to sleep in my own bed."

Thankfully, Hermione seemed to give in at that. "Alright, Harry."

As they walked through the corridors, Harry stared down at his feet and noticed that he was leaving droplets of blood all along the floor. If he wasn't so tired, he might have been more concerned over the fact that his nosebleeds never lasted this long. They met a few concerned people along the way, but Hermione and Ron expertly quelled their questioning. When they entered the common room, they guided him up the stairs to the boy's dormitory and carefully sat him down on his bed. Harry immediately laid down on his side, where he wrapped his arms around his middle and curled his knees to his chest.

"Here, Harry."

Hermione conjured a handkerchief and pressed it to his nose. It took several more minutes for the bleeding to stop, and when it did, Hermione gently cleaned up his face for him. When she was done, she helped Harry get underneath his blankets and turned on his radio for him. The music helped relax him, and soon enough, Harry felt the worst of the nausea start to pass. Releasing a shaky breath, he uncurled his body from its fetal position.

"This is going to be all over the front page tomorrow, isn't it?" Harry asked hoarsely, his throat raw from coughing.

"I'm afraid so, mate," Ron said sympathetically.

"Well, we don't know that for sure," Hermione offered half-heartedly.

Ron just rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. Harry sneezing ends up on the front page these days."

"Well, thank you for your unrelenting optimism, Ron," Hermione sighed before turning back to Harry. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. It's not like they know what's really going on."

"How long do you plan on keeping this from everyone, anyway, Harry?" Ron asked curiously.

"Until I'm dead, hopefully," Harry stated bluntly.

"Don't you think, maybe people deserve to know?" Hermione asked, kneeling beside Harry's bed. "Not everyone, of course, but what about Ginny? Neville? Dean? They're your friends. It wouldn't be fair for them to find out after you've..d-died."

Harry watched as tears brimmed up in Hermione's eyes. All of her walls came crumbling down simultaneously and she suddenly looked stripped bare; vulnerable. Harry understood that completely, having experienced it himself. There was something about speaking it out loud that cemented the realness of it. For so long, they'd pretended that not talking about it meant it wasn't really happening. Sure, they'd mentioned it here and there, but they'd never _really_ treated it for what it was. The time had come where they could no longer deny the inevitable. It sucked, and it hurt, but it was _reality_.

Reaching out, Harry cupped Hermione's face comfortingly. Her jaw was clenched in a valiant effort not to cry, but Harry could see that it was trembling. He just stroked her cheek as the tears started to fall, one by one until she finally broke down sobbing. Harry slid down to the floor in front of her and held her tightly in his arms as she cried. She had her face pressed into his chest and her hands curled tightly into his jumper, not daring to let go. It broke his heart to see one of the most logical and fearless people he knew fall apart. She was the one who usually knew what to do in a bad situation; she always had a rational explanation or a brilliant solution, yet this time she was just as lost as the rest of them. Resting his chin atop her head, he closed his eyes as his own tears started to slip down his face.

They sat like that for a long while, until Hermione finally stopped crying. As he stroked her hair, Harry pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

"It's going to be okay," he whispered and then pulled away. He brushed away a tear from her face and smiled.

Hermione gave him a watery smile in return and wiped at her soggy cheeks with her hands. "I know, it's just...ugh, I can't imagine life without you, Harry!"

Harry's eyes widened in surprise when she practically leaped onto him and pulled him into another crushing hug. She wrapped her arms so tightly around him that he felt air being squeezed from his lungs.

"Well, if you don't let me go, Hermione," Harry wheezed, feeling like his ribs were being crushed. "It's not going to be the cancer that kills me."

Hermione immediately broke away and laughed apologetically. "Sorry, Harry."

"It's okay, I didn't need those ribs anyway," Harry said with a chuckle. He hauled himself back up onto the bed and pulled Hermione with him.

"Well, I know what this situation calls for," Ron announced, after having been quiet almost the entire time.

Harry and Hermione looked to Ron just as he pulled out their Honeyduke's bags and dumped the entire contents out onto Harry's bed. There was so much of it that it very nearly took up the whole bed.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I don't think sweets solve everything, Ron."

"No, but I'd rather have sweets than not have them," Ron responded, jumping onto Harry's bed to join them. "No matter the situation."

"You have a point," Harry laughed, rummaging through the pile and picking out a Chocoball.

"If there's one thing you should know about me, Harry," Ron said while biting off the head of a Chocolate Frog, "it's that I always have a point."

"Yeah, but they're usually idiotic," Hermione said with a grin.

"Not _all_ of them," Ron defended.

"Just most."

Harry was hit in the head with a sherbet ball for that. He just picked it up and popped it into his mouth. The three of them laughed and started working their way through the gargantuan pile. It was actually quite a lot of fun going through the sweets again like it was their first time trying them. The room was filled with bubbles after eating the Drooble's gum, and Ron nearly caught the drapes of Harry's bed on fire after eating a Pepper Imp. Hermione's teeth chattered for several minutes after eating an Ice Mice and there was a Peppermint Toad hopping about in Harry's stomach. They even dared each other to try some of the less favorable sweets, like Blood Pops and Cockroach Clusters. They were starting to regret always daring each other to eat gross things. When the rest of their dorm mates came up to sleep, Hermione just cast a silencing charm around Harry's bed. They laughed, joked and talked throughout the rest of the night.

They finally fell asleep when the sun started coming up. They were curled up together on Harry's bed, sweet wrappers strewn everywhere and bubbles floating lazily about the room. The radio played softly in the background.


	12. Chapter 12

_'Were there always this many stairs on the way back to Gryffindor Tower?'_

Harry had just finished a rather aggressive round of treatments, and he was slowly, but surely, trying to make his way back to the common room. Never in his life had he imagined the simple act of walking could be made _this_ difficult. The treatments had left him feeling weak and shaky, not to mention nauseated. It also didn't help that his collar bone and hip were being especially troublesome, throbbing like a thousand knives being stabbed into his joints all at once.

"Ah! Bloody hell!" he cried out at the sharp pain in his collar bone.

Hand flying up to his shoulder, he stumbled into the wall and leaned against it, trying to find his bearings. His breaths were ragged and he was starting to sweat rather profusely. He could feel it forming at his temples and slowly trailing down his face and neck. The thin white shirt he was wearing was already starting to soak through. He tried his hardest to remain standing, knowing that if he were to faint and end up back in the infirmary, he was going to get a big fat 'I told you so' from Pomfrey.

_'Maybe I should've listened to her and stayed in the hospital wing for a bit longer.'_

Despite his best efforts, his vision started to darken around the edges and found himself crumpling to the ground involuntarily.

"Harry!"

Harry looked up to see Ginny running towards him. He quickly plastered a smile to his face, but internally the only thing he was thinking was 'crap crap crap _crap.'_

Ginny dropped down in front of him, her red hair wild around her face from running, and her brown eyes wide with concern. "Harry, are you alright?"

"Hey, Gin," Harry said, trying to play it casual, but his hoarse voice betrayed him. "I'm alright, just feeling a bit dizzy."

"Do you need to go to the infirmary?" she asked, taking hold of his arm to help him to his feet.

"No I-Ah!" A sharp pain tore through his clavicle, causing him to stumble into Ginny.

"Harry?" Ginny sounded alarmed, grabbing hold of him to keep him from falling. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, I just need-" Harry closed his eyes when an intense wave of nausea rolled over him, "-to sit down."

"Alright, yeah, okay," Ginny nodded, slowly helping him lower back to the floor.

Now that he was sitting, he no longer felt quite on the verge of fainting and he managed to take a few deep breaths to clear the nausea. His skin was slick with sweat, causing his shirt to stick to his form. It felt gross and he decided the first thing he was going to do when he got back to the dorms was change clothes.

Looking up at Ginny, he saw that she was concentrating on something quite intently. "Harry, what's this?"

She reached out and, before Harry could stop her, pulled down the neck of his shirt to reveal the catheter attached to his chest. Mentally, Harry was releasing a rather colorful string of swear words. He really should have worn a jumper or something heavier.

"Thats, um...that's-" Crap, he couldn't think of a logical excuse. That was more Hermione's area of expertise. "-nothing?"

_'Absolutely brilliant cover up there, Harry.'_

"This doesn't have anything to do with what was in the papers the other day, does it?" Ginny asked, her expression growing increasingly suspicious, "or why you spontaneously quit the Quidditch team?"

Harry averted his eyes. Just as predicted, the Daily Prophet had featured the whole fiasco at The Three Broomsticks. It hadn't taken long for rumors to spread like wildfire through the school and he'd spent nearly two days fighting off a bombardment of questions from his peers. He'd eventually managed to brush them off with the excuse that 'the Prophet is always exaggerating things about me.' Which wasn't _entirely_ untrue.

But, looking back into Ginny's worried and honest face, Harry felt himself unwilling to lie. Hermione's words rang in his ears: 'Do you think it's fair to let them find out after you've died?'

That thought made Harry's heart feel funny and he was overwhelmed with an incredible amount of guilt. Despite how brief their relationship had been, it had, and still continued to mean something to Harry. He knew Ginny would never stop being someone special to him. It didn't matter if it was as friends or something more, she would always be important. Painfully, he was struck with the realization of how much time he was going to miss out on with her; how much time with her he'd _already_ missed out on.

"Harry?" Ginny sounded even more worried due to his silence. "What's going on?"

Harry had to look away again, because he was suddenly extremely embarrassed having to admit that he was sick. Everyone saw him as the hero that'd defeated Voldemort, yet he couldn't even defeat some disease. How stupidly ironic was that?

Keeping his attention focused on a strange-shaped scuff mark on the ground, Harry took a deep breath. "A little while ago, I got some...news."

"News?" Ginny repeated. "What kind of news?"

"Er...well," Harry shifted uncomfortably. Why was this so difficult? "I guess I should explain that, when I survived the killing curse, it had some um...lasting effects."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ginny demanded, sounding higher pitched. "Just tell me what's happening!"

"I um...I have cancer," Harry finished lamely. It certainly hadn't been the eloquent way he'd envisioned himself telling her, but he supposed there was so no 'good' way of saying he was dying.

"Cancer?" Ginny furrowed her eyebrows. "What's that?"

Harry resisted the urge to groan. He'd really hoped he wouldn't have to explain any more, but he should have known things never went that easily for him.

"A disease..." He dared a glance at her. "A terminal one."

Ginny went so still and quiet that Harry wasn't entirely sure that she'd actually heard him at first. All of the color drained from her face, making her fiery red hair look even brighter than usual. She was staring straight at him, but it looked more like she was staring _through_ him. Feeling more awkward than ever, Harry just waited for her to say something.

"How long?" she whispered so quietly Harry barely heard her.

"How long what?" he asked in confusion.

"How long have you known?" She was staring straight into his eyes now.

Harry swallowed heavily. "About three months."

Ginny was suddenly on her feet, looking down at Harry with absolute fire in her eyes. "And you didn't think to tell me _before_ now?"

"I, uh, well..." Harry felt his heart beating wildly in his chest. He really wished Hermione was there, she'd know how to mediate this situation. "...I didn't want to worry you."

"So, what, you were going to wait til you died for me to find out?" Ginny practically fumed.

"No!" Harry defended, but the conviction in his voice immediately died. "I...I don't know."

"You don't know?!" Ginny all but yelled, causing Harry to blanch. "What about everyone else? Ron and Hermione? How do you think they're going to feel?"

"They already know," Harry said quietly.

"So you'd tell _them_ but not me?"

"They're my best friends!" Harry shouted back, but immediately snapped his mouth shut after realizing how bad that'd sounded.

Ginny stopped and stared at him, a look of total disbelief and hurt crossing her face. "You're such an insensitive jerk sometimes, Harry."

With that, she gathered up her satchel and stormed off. Harry watched her retreating back with shock, shame burrowing deep into his chest. That had not gone well at all. He couldn't even bring himself to be angry at her, because he knew she had all the right in the world to be so furious with him.

Bracing his hand on the wall, Harry carefully pushed himself onto his feet. He thought for sure he was going to end up right back on the floor but then a pair of hands grabbed hold of him and steadied him. Looking over, he saw Neville standing beside him. Harry blinked a few times in surprise.

"Neville? Where'd you come from?" he asked in confusion.

"Sorry, Harry," Neville said, his face flushing slightly. "I was just heading towards the common room when I heard you and Ginny talking and..."

"And you heard everything, didn't you?" Harry sighed. He supposed it saved him the trouble of having to tell Neville at least.

"Yeah, sorry," Neville looked a bit embarrassed. "Are you really...you know?"

"Dying?" Harry finished and Neville nodded. "Yeah, I am."

"Oh," Nevile said, obviously not entirely sure how to respond to something like that. Who could blame him? "How are you feeling?"

"Right now, or in general?" Harry asked as he started to walk down the corridor. Neville kept his hand on his arm the entire time, for which Harry was grateful because he was feeling ridiculously unsteady.

"Both, I guess."

"Well, right now, I feel rather crappy," Harry laughed softly, "but in general, I think I'm doing alright. I've kind of had time to adjust, you know?"

"So you're not afraid or anything?" Neville asked, glancing over at him. "I mean, you're the bravest person I know but, it's still got to be kind of scary."

"I'm not so much afraid of _dying_ ," Harry started, pausing momentarily, "as I am of missing out on everything."

"That makes sense," Neville nodded. "Is there anything you wish you _could_ do?"

Harry realized he'd never considered that question before. He'd been so caught up in the drama of dying that he'd never stopped to think about the things he'd like to do _before_ he died. That was the normal thing to do, after all, wasn't it? Harry was sure that most people's lists probably included wild adventures or some crazy stunt they'd always wanted to pull, but Harry found he had no desire for anything like that. His life had been nothing but excitement and adventure since the day he was born, so he'd had more than his fill of both of those things.

"I think..." Harry started thoughtfully, "I think all I'd want to do is take my NEWTs and graduate Hogwarts."

"If you'd been anyone else, that probably would have been surprising," Neville said with a smile, "but you've always wanted a normal life."

"So much for that wish, huh?" Harry snorted then looked over to Neville curiously. "So, are you angry that I didn't tell you about this before?"

"Not really," Neville shrugged. "Don't get me wrong, I like Ginny and all, but she had no right to get that angry with you."

Harry was surprised at that. "What do you mean?"

"Well...it's kind of your personal business, isn't it?" Neville said thoughtfully. "I know you, Harry. You wouldn't do something unless you had a good reason to be doing it."

"I suppose," Harry looked down at the ground as they walked. "I still feel rather horrible for keeping something like _this_ a secret from everyone."

"Why did you?" Neville asked curiously.

Harry paused for a moment, having to really think about that. "I guess I didn't want everyone to worry; I wanted to be left alone; I didn't want the attention; I was embarrassed; I was scared."

"Honestly, Harry, I think anyone else in your position would've been exactly the same," Neville said reassuringly.

Harry tilted his head at him. "You think so?"

"Yeah," Neville said. "I can't imagine anyone would have the perfect reaction to, you know, dying."

"You're taking this oddly well," Harry pointed out. "Ron and Hermione got scary over protective when they found out, and well, you saw Ginny's reaction..."

Neville laughed. "Don't get me wrong, Harry. I hate that you're getting the shit end of the stick again; but you said you're alright, so I'm alright too."

Harry felt himself smile at that, his appreciation for Neville going up several notches. He sort of wished he hadn't taken so long to tell Neville now, because he could have used that kind of positivity when things with Hermione and Ron had gone sour. "Thanks, Neville. That really means a lot to me."

"Well, you've always been there for me, so I'm just returning the favor," Neville responded. "So, are you going to tell the others?"

Harry sighed and turned his eyes up towards the ceiling. "I s'pose I should, shouldn't I?"

"That's up to you, Harry," Neville said with a shrug. "Just know that your friends are there for you."

Harry was perfectly aware of the fact that he had a bad habit of trying to tackle all of his problems on his own. It most likely came from a childhood of abuse and neglect where he always had to fend for himself; but now, he had friends and people who cared about him. He could no longer use the excuse that he _had_ to always take care of everything.

He didn't have to do this all alone.

xxxxx

Telling Dean and Seamus hadn't been nearly as bad as telling Ginny had been. It'd probably helped that he had Ron and Neville there as moral support. They'd taken it a bit roughly at first, but they quickly snapped into 'super supportive friend mode' after the initial shock. They'd even adamantly insisted on accompanying him for his next treatment, which meant they were all currently grouped around his bed. It was a bit awkward having people watch him get chemo, but he supposed it was better than staring at blank walls the entire time.

"Blimey, how do you not die of boredom in here?" Seamus commented, sitting slouched in a chair next to Harry's bed.

"Because Madam Pomfrey won't let me die," Harry responded with a laugh.

"Tough luck, mate," Dean shook his head with a snort, then turned his attention to the IV that was attached to Harry's chest. "So...does it hurt?"

Harry glanced down at it and shrugged. "Not really. The side effects are worse."

"How long does it normally take?" Seamus asked, curiously poking at the IV bag.

"Oi, be careful, idiot," Ron chastised, swatting Seamus's hand away.

"About an hour, maybe a little longer," Harry said, snickering as Seamus rubbed at his hand. "I kind of zone out sometimes."

"Bloody hell, I don't think I could survive sitting in here for an hour every day!" Seamus said, shocked.

"It's not every day," Harry pointed out. "I only get treatments three times a week."

"That's still an ungodly amount of time to be spending in the infirmary," Seamus made a face.

"Knowing Harry, he's probably made more than a few escape attempts," Dean grinned.

"You don't even know," Ron said, rolling his eyes in Harry's direction. "We were seriously considering getting a babysitter for him at one point."

"I'm not that bad," Harry huffed, but when Ron's eyebrows raised, he grinned sheepishly. "...anymore, at least."

"True, I don't think I've had to carry you to the infirmary in a few weeks," Ron nodded.

"You had to carry Harry to the infirmary?" Seamus asked and burst out laughing. "I would've paid to see that!"

"It wasn't funny," Harry glared but Ron just grinned.

"You're right. It was hilarious."

"You're so lucky I'm attached to this stupid IV, or I'd be kicking your arse right about now," Harry tossed his pillow at Ron's head.

Dean, Seamus and Neville all snickered. Ron just picked up the pillow and used it to cushion his back.

"Hey, where's Hermione, anyway?" Dean asked, looking around the infirmary.

"I think she's talking to Ginny," Ron replied. "She got in a right state about Harry."

"Ouch," Seamus winced in sympathy. "I'm sure she'll come around."

"I hop-oooh," Harry suddenly groaned, clutching at his stomach.

"Harry? What's wrong?" Seamus said, suddenly sitting up straight.

"I think the chemo's kicking in."

"Hold on, Harry," Ron said, leaping from his seat and grabbing Harry's puke bucket for him.

"Thanks," Harry said when Ron thrust the bucket under his face.

Clutching it tightly in his hands, Harry leaned over the bucket and breathed heavily as the nausea swept over him like a tidal wave. He tried to swallow down the acidic bile rising in his throat, but it was no use. With one, violent heave, the entire contents of his stomach started spilling out of his mouth and into the bucket with disgusting sounding splashes. Ron just encouragingly rubbed the space between his shoulder blades as Harry continued to gag, not stopping until only clear stomach acid was coming out. When he finally finished, he gasped for breath and fumbled for his wand, using it to clean up the mess in the bucket.

Setting the bucket aside, Harry noticed that everyone else in the room was trying their best not to look straight at him. It was rather obvious that none of them knew the proper way to react to the situation. His cheeks started to warm up from slight embarrassment and shame. It was one thing for everyone to know that he was sick, it was a completely other thing for them to actually witness it.

Fortunately, the awkward moment was interrupted by the infirmary doors opening. Everyone simultaneously turned their heads to the two people who'd entered the room. Hermione was there, leading a rather distraught looking Ginny after her. Her cheeks were tear stained and her eyes were puffy and red from crying. Harry's heart constricted painfully in his chest at the sight of her. He suddenly wanted to rip his IV out and go over to her. However, he was saved the need to by Hermione and Ginny walking over to him first.

"Er, uh, I think we'll just be going," Seamus said, standing from his chair abruptly. "Come on guys, let's go see if lunch is ready."

"Right," Ron, Neville and Dean nodded, following Seamus's lead. They all gave Harry pats on the shoulder before walking out of the infirmary.

"I'll just be going as well," Hermione said with a smile, giving Ginny a reassuring squeeze on the arm. "I'll come check on you later, okay?"

Harry just nodded, his eyes following Hermione until she disappeared out the door. Slowly, he brought his gaze back over to Ginny and shifted on the bed. He made an odd noise in the back of his throat and fiddled absently with the IV tubes.

"Um, how are you?" he asked, feeling a bit stupid for asking considering the state of her, but he wasn't sure how else to break the silence.

"Alright, I guess," Ginny shrugged, taking a seat in one of the vacated chairs. She clasped her hands together and stared down on them. There was a long pause before she let out a deep sigh. "Listen...I'm sorry for-"

"Don't worry about it," Harry said, shaking his head. "It was understandable, really."

"It just took me by surprise," Ginny explained, finally bringing her eyes up to meet his. "I didn't know how to react."

"It's alright, _really_ ," Harry offered a smile. "I've gotten pretty angry about it too, trust me."

"I feel badly for just leaving you in the corridor like that," Ginny turned her gaze down again in embarrassment.

"Neville came to my rescue," Harry reassured her with a soft laugh. "No harm done."

Ginny just looked away at that, her eyes intently focusing on the wall opposite of them. She brought a hand up and discreetly tried to wipe away a fresh wave of tears, but Harry saw them rolling down her cheeks. With another painful pang in his chest, Harry desperately wished he was better at comforting girls Or people in general. It was a skill he'd never possessed and he usually ended up making the situation worse when he tried. However, just seeing Ginny there like that made him sit up and reach out to grab hold of her wrist.

She looked at him in surprise, but he just gently tugged on her arm until she got up out of her seat and came over to join him on the bed. When she sat down next to him, Harry moved his hand to lock his fingers with hers and give her a reassuring squeeze. A small smile pulled at the corner of her lips as she squeezed back, a few more tears sliding down her cheeks. His heart was pounding from how warm her hand felt in his, and he suddenly wished he never had to let go.

"Look, it's snowing," he said quietly, looking out the window.

Ginny followed his gaze and together they watched the gentle fall of the delicate snowflakes just outside. They made soft pattering sounds as they fell against the window, filling the infirmary with a quiet sort of peacefulness. He dolefully thought about how this would be the last time he ever got to see the snowfall.

"Are you coming over for Christmas this year?" Ginny asked, still staring out the window.

"I wouldn't miss out on your mum's cooking for the world," Harry said with a chuckle.

"Mum's going to be devastated," Ginny whispered, her hand tightening around Harry's. "So's dad, and George, and everyone else."

It seemed that Ginny could no longer hold back because she started sobbing at that point. The only thing Harry could think to do was pull her down so she was lying next to him. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and drew her as close against his body as possible. Her arms clung to him with equal desperation, her face pressing into his shoulder where he could feel the hot wetness of her tears against his skin.

"It's going to be alright, Gin," Harry said, tightening his hold even more. "I promise."

She just shook her head as if she didn't believe him, her fingers clutching at the back of his shirt like she thought he would disappear if she let go even a little bit. He just let her cry into his chest, knowing she had to get it all out before things could start to feel better again. All he could do until then was continue to assure her that everything would be alright. It hurt now, but pain was a fleeting emotion that'd eventually heal.

"I promise," he whispered.


	13. Chapter 13

"Oh, Harry!"

The instant Harry stepped through the doors of the Burrow, he was swept up in a bone-crushing embrace. He had to fight the instinct to flinch away from the unexpected touch, but he relaxed once Mrs. Weasley's loving, motherly warmth completely encompassed him. He could hear Mrs. Weasley softly sniffling against his shoulder as she stroked her fingers through the back of his hair. It must have been a good five minutes before she finally stepped back and let him breathe.

"You are far, far too thin, dear," she said, her eyes puffy and red as she rubbed his shoulders. "How about a snack before tea time?"

Harry just smiled softly, having expected a reaction along these lines. He'd allowed Ginny to inform her parents and brothers about what was going on a few days prior to their arrival. It seemed easier to do it that way than to randomly drop the bomb on them the day before Christmas.

"Perhaps just a cup of tea?" Harry replied, feeling a bit too nauseated to eat.

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, stroking his cheek, "but you better eat something later."

Harry chuckled. "I will, I promise."

After Mrs. Weasley bustled away, Mr. Weasley approached him and settled a warm hand on his shoulder. "Doing alright there, Harry?"

"Yes, Mr. Weasley," Harry replied with a smile. "I am a bit tired from the train ride, though."

"Would you like to have a bit of a lie down?" Mrs. Weasley asked as she got the kettle ready. "I'll come get you when supper is ready."

The offer was quite tempting, so Harry nodded. "I just might do that."

"Harry's like a cat now," Ron teased. "He sleeps about 18 hours a day. _At least_."

"Only when your snoring isn't keeping me awake," Harry retorted with a grin.

"Sounds like Ronnie-kins," George laughed as he entered the kitchen. "I swear, he's woken the whole bloody house a few times."

When Harry's eyes landed on George's face, it brought back images of Fred lying dead in the rubble, with his cold, lifeless eyes staring up at him. With a horrified gasp, Harry staggered away from George, nearly knocking a chair over in the process. Silence fell over the kitchen as everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at Harry with uncertainty. Harry just stood there, frozen and shaking.

_'Breathe, breathe, focus on breathing.'_

Taking in deep breaths, Harry focused all of his attention on the way the air felt entering and leaving his lungs. In. Out. In. Out. _Breathe_. It was the only thing he could do. Slowly, his trembling eased and the horrible visions started to fade away. Mind slightly clearer, he blinked a few times and remembered where he was. He was _home_. The very solid feel of the floor underneath his feet and the very real presence of his friends assured him of that fact.

Feeling calmer now, Harry made himself smile and walk over to George.

"Hey, mate, good to see you," he said as he grabbed George by the arm and pulled him into a brotherly hug.

"You too, Harry," George replied, tightening the embrace.

That one simple action told Harry exactly what George was feeling. The lone twin was losing another brother and he was hurting deeply over it. Harry wished there was some way to end all of this sorrow. If only he could draw all of the sadness into his body and take it to the grave with him. That way it could never touch anyone he cared about again.

When George pulled back, he had his trademark grin plastered on his face. "So, please tell me you've been making Ron's life hell by having him do things for you."

"If anything, he's been making _my_ life hell," Harry laughed. "He practically kidnaps me and keeps me hostage in the infirmary."

"Well, if you'd just take yourself there, then it wouldn't be necessary!" Ron huffed.

George looked beyond amused. "Never thought I'd see the day when Ron acts responsibly."

"I know, it concerned me at first too," Hermione added in with a grin.

Ron crossed his arms. "Why is it every time you lot get together, I'm always getting ganged up on?"

"Because you're the easiest target, little bro," George said, ruffling Ron's hair.

Ron just glowered at the action and attempted to fix the mess George had made of his hair.

"Ron, George, why don't you take Harry's things upstairs for him?" Mrs. Weasley said as she returned with a cup of steaming tea.

"Oh, I can do that, I don't mind," Harry said quickly.

"Nonsense, you sit down," Mrs. Weasley ordered as she pointed to a chair. "You look dead on your feet as is."

Knowing better than to argue with her, Harry obediently sat down and grinned apologetically at Ron and George. Mrs. Weasley smiled in approval and set a cup of milky tea down in front of him. Grabbing it and taking a sip, Harry enjoyed the way the liquid pooled in his stomach like a warm embrace, quelling his nausea. Just like Hermione, Mrs. Weasley knew exactly how Harry took his tea.

"Is there anything you'd like me to do, Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione asked after Ron and George left the kitchen.

"Well, you could help me prepare supper," Mrs. Weasley answered. "Bill, Percy and Charlie will be arriving by floo later tonight. We can start decorating the tree then."

"Oh! Sounds lovely," Hermione said cheerily.

"By the way, Harry," Mr. Weasley turned to him. "We've finished getting the floo connection set up with Hogwarts. You'll be able to travel back and forth to your treatments without issue."

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," Harry said, though feeling slightly guilty. "I'm really sorry if it was too much trouble on your part."

"It's no trouble at all," Mr. Weasley waved off his concerns. "We want to make sure you have everything you need."

Harry knew he shouldn't have felt as bad as he did. The Weasleys always treated him with kindness and seemed happy to help out, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that he was inconveniencing them. For as long as he could remember, he'd had the habit of apologizing for things that didn't need apologizing for, and never asking for help even when he really needed it. The Dursleys had tried to instill a sense of worthlessness into him, and had always treated him like he was less than nothing. The Weasleys, however, treated him like he was worth everything.

To them, he was family.

Draining the last bit of tea from his cup, Harry set it down and rubbed at his eyes. Despite it being only late afternoon, he was beyond exhausted.

"Alright, dear, upstairs with you," Mrs. Weasley said as gathered up the empty cup. "We've already got a bed made up for you in Ron's room."

Harry nodded and started to rise from his chair. As soon as he was on his feet, he was hit with a rushing dizziness and his vision went completely black. When he started wobbling, Hermione immediately grabbed hold of his arm and kept him steady. Harry's hand clenched Hermione's jumper so hard that it was shaking. It took several minutes of deep breathing before Harry's vision finally cleared and he no longer felt on the verge of collapse.

"I think I'll help Harry get upstairs," Hermione said as she rubbed his back.

Mrs. Weasley nodded, watching Harry with concern. "That's a good idea. Just be careful."

They went at a nice, slow pace as Hermione helped Harry out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He'd only made it about halfway up before his legs tried to buckle underneath him. Thankfully, Hermione had been able to bear most of his weight and helped him up the last few steps.

Finally making it to Ron's room, Harry collapsed on his bed, panting heavily and sweating profusely. Hermione removed his glasses for him and conjured a glass of water to keep at his beside.

"If you need anything, we'll all be just downstairs," Hermione said softly.

Harry watched her blurry figure leave the room and his heavy eyes slowly closed. Everything swam into complete darkness.

xxxxx

When Harry awoke, it was to a gentle hand shaking him. He opened his bleary eyes and looked around, taking a few moments to remember where was. The light streaming into the room suggested that it was the next morning. He must have slept the entire night through. He fumbled around for his glasses and then looked up at the person above him.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," Ginny whispered softly.

Harry smiled and slowly pushed himself up. "Happy Christmas, Gin."

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Alright," Harry replied groggily. He felt like he could have easily slept another ten hours.

"Everyone's waiting downstairs," Ginny informed. "Do you want to come down?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, standing up.

Reaching out, Harry grabbed Ginny's hand and interlocked their fingers. Together, they walked down the stairs (which had been much easier than going up them) and were greeted by the entire Weasley family plus Hermione sitting in the lounge.

"Harry!" Charlie called jovially, striding over to him and wrapping him in a big embrace. When he let go of him, he gave him a once over and grinned. "You're looking fit."

Harry laughed. "I feel fit."

Bill came over next, also giving him a hug. "Alright, Harry?"

"No too bad," Harry said, then looked around. "Where's Fleur?"

"Oh, she's with her parents today," Bill replied. "She sends her love, though."

Harry thought it was quite nice of Fleur to think of him like that. He just hoped he'd have a chance to see her before he went back to school.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," Percy greeted as he approached Harry last.

"Happy Christmas, Percy," Harry returned, holding his hand out for the usual handshake.

Percy grabbed his hand, but to Harry's surprise, he was pulled into another embrace. Harry stood stunned for a second or two before finally wrapping his arms around the other man in return. There was definitely something different about Percy - he no longer carried the same stuck-up, know-it-all air he used to. Harry figured it had something to do with the war and Fred dying.

_'We've all changed a little bit.'_

"I hope you don't mind that we decorated the tree without you, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said as he and Percy broke apart. "We tried to wake you last night but you were so exhausted you couldn't be stirred. Poor thing."

Harry rubbed the back of his head sheepishly and smiled. "That's alright."

"It's a very fine tree, if I do say so myself," Mr. Weasley said, admiring their handiwork.

Walking over to the tree, Harry looked over all of the ornaments decorating the branches. Some of them were obviously magical (there was a Santa Claus flying a sled around the tree) but others looked like ordinary muggles ones. He'd bet anything they'd been Mr. Weasley's idea. When his eyes landed on a small, oval picture frame hanging on one of the middle branches, Harry looked closer at the moving photograph inside. It was one of him, Hermione and Ron from two Christmases ago. They were all wearing silly Christmas hats and grinning goofily at the camera. He remembered that day so clearly, yet it felt like it'd happened ages ago. Chest feeling tight, he turned away.

"Well, if everyone's ready," Mr. Weasley suddenly announced, clapping his hands together. "Shall we start opening presents?"

Everyone readily agreed and gathered around the Christmas tree. Harry munched on a Christmas cookie as he watched the others exchange gifts. There weren't that many, considering they'd all agreed not to really buy each other gifts that year. Harry hadn't wanted his last Christmas to be focused on pointless gifts; he just wanted to spend it with his friends. He did get his Weasley jumper, though. It was extra big and extra thick, exactly what he needed.

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," he said happily, putting it on right there.

"No worries, dear," she replied, patting him on the back. "Merlin knows, you need some warmer clothes."

Harry didn't disagree with that. He'd spent most of the winter so far freezing his arse off. It was one of the drawbacks of being around a stone underweight and constantly ill.

When all of the gifts were opened, everyone headed into the kitchen for some of Mrs. Weasley's hot cocoa. Before they could follow, Harry stopped Ron and Hermione.

"Can I talk to you guys alone for a few?"

"Sure, Harry," Ron said, frowning worriedly. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I just didn't want to do this in front of everyone else," Harry replied.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded towards the stairs. "Let's go up to Ron's room."

They headed up the stairs, with Hermione in the lead and Ron directly behind him - a precaution in case Harry suddenly fell. He was pleased to discover that the journey up hadn't been nearly as difficult as it'd been the previous night. When they made it to Ron's room, Harry walked over to his bag and rummaged around for a moment before procuring three items.

"I know we said no gifts," Harry said, turning back to them. "But these aren't really Christmas gifts."

In his hands he held his Invisibility Cloak, the Marauder's Map, and the photo album Hagrid had given him his first year. It was clear that Ron and Hermione understood what he was doing, because their eyes widened and started filling with tears. This was something he'd been contemplating doing for a long while, he'd just never worked up the courage to do it until now. It'd felt like he was somehow finalizing his dying. It was inevitable, though, and it was important that he do this while he was still alive. He wanted his most prized possessions to go to his most important people.

"Ron, I want you to have the Marauder's Map," Harry said, holding it out to him. "Considering all of the mischief we've gotten into together, it only seems right it go to you."

Ron was silent as he took the map with trembling hands, fingers tracing over the words printed on the front. Harry could tell that Ron was recalling some of the numerous adventures they'd had together. Even though their school years had been marred by many tragic events, there were still plenty of good memories. Harry wanted to make sure his friends held onto those as much as possible.

Taking a deep breath, Harry turned to Hermione next. "Hermione, I want you to have my Invisibility Cloak."

"Oh, Harry, are you sure?" Hermione said, her eyes turning glossy with tears. "It was your father's."

"I can't think of anyone I'd trust more with it," Harry smiled, handing her the shimmering garment. "If you and Ron ever have children, make sure to pass it down to them."

Hermione took the cloak and clutched it carefully to her chest, tears slipping down her cheeks.

"I'll take good care of it, Harry," she promised.

Harry nodded and held out the photo album last. "I want both of you to keep this."

Out of all of the things he owned, Harry cherished this the most. Over the years, he'd filled the remaining pages with various photos of himself, his friends and the Weasleys. In the past, he'd used the album as a means of filling the emptiness that came from his parents' absence. Ron and Hermione would be able to do the same with it.

Ron quietly flipped through the photo album and stopped at a picture of them from the end of their first year. He stared down at it for a moment before suddenly snapping the album closed, tossing it onto the bed and grabbing Harry into a fierce hug. Harry didn't even care that he couldn't breathe, he just wrapped his arms around Ron in return and gripped him tightly. Hermione joined in and the three of them just stood there, embracing for what felt like eternity; but still not long enough.

Breaking apart, they wiped away their tears and sat down on the bed to continue looking through the photo album. The remainder of the morning was spent recounting tales, and teasing each other over how young and ridiculous they looked.

To Harry, it was the perfect Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, I felt a bit weird writing about Christmas when I'm over here baking in the 111 degree California heat. This must be what Australians feel like. Tell you what, though, I do not miss how cold it was when I traveled England. I'll take the heat any day. Anyway, there's only two chapters left!


	14. Chapter 14

The snow started falling the day after Christmas. The thin layer of white dusted the ground and shimmered under the morning sun. The air felt cool and crisp, with the scent of pine lingering on the breeze. While everyone else took to staying indoors, huddled around the fireplace and drinking hot cocoa, Harry wandered out into the snow.

Sticking his hands out, he started catching snowflakes in his palms. They were soft and delicate - only lasting a second or two before melting against his skin. Kneeling down, he gathered up as much snow as he could off the ground. When he stood again, he merely tossed the snow up into the air and tilted his head back so he could watch it fall. It went everywhere, landing on his cheeks, in his hair and even sticking to his eyelashes. Feeling some on his lips, Harry licked it away and then stuck his tongue out to catch more. His breath fogged up like little clouds as he continued to stare up into the steely grey sky. Most would probably describe it as bleak and dreary, but to Harry it looked beautiful.

"Harry, what are you doing outside?"

Harry looked over his shoulder to see Hermione standing directly behind him. She was also accompanied by Ron, Ginny, and George. He almost laughed. He should have known they'd notice him missing and send out a search party. Amused, Harry just shrugged his shoulders at Hermione's question.

"Watching the snow."

Ginny frowned. "You're going to freeze to death out here," she said, taking off her scarf and wrapping it around Harry instead.

Harry chuckled but allowed her to do it. "I'm alright, I promise."

"Want to come inside and play Exploding Snaps with us?" Ron offered. "We were just about to start a game."

Turning his eyes up towards the sky again, Harry got a different idea. "How about a game of Quidditch?"

"Oh, I don't know, Harry," Hermione said worriedly. "Remember what happened last time?"

"I'll take it easy, I promise," Harry said, looking to her. "I just want to fly again."

For the past couple of weeks, Harry had been feeling a strong ache to fly again. He hadn't been on a broom since the Quidditch match, and he missed it. The exhilaration. The freedom. Without flying, it felt like a part of him was missing.

"We'll be there too," George said. "We won't let anything happen to Harry."

Hermione sighed, though she did seem less worried. "Alright, just don't fly too high."

"Yes, mum," they all chorused together.

While they headed over to the broomshed to gather up the Quidditch supplies, Ginny ran inside the house to get the rest of the Weasley brothers to join in. Even Hermione had decided to play, despite her abysmal flying skills. Harry and Ron had laughed themselves silly when her first attempt only got her three feet off the ground before she dropped right back down. She did eventually manage to get a decent amount of height, even if her movements were a bit slow and jerky. Hermione had always lacked confidence on broomsticks.

"Just go slow, alright?" she said, clutching the broom handle tightly.

"Of course, 'Mione," Harry grinned as he and Ron flew gracefully around her.

"Show offs," Hermione glowered.

"She's just annoyed that we're actually better than her at something," Ron snickered as he tossed the Quaffle over to Harry.

"Give her time," Harry responded, catching the Quaffle effortlessly. "Knowing Hermione, she'll be better than us in no time."

"Don't give her ideas!" Ron said, eyes wide. "I need this _one_ thing!"

"Sorry, mate," Harry snickered. "Now, let's get this game started."

Tossing the Quaffle over to Ginny, Harry took off flying. The game was a very casual, loose affair, considering they didn't have enough players to play a real match. No one was trying all that hard to score and half the time everyone kept forgetting whose team they were on. None of that mattered, though. They were having fun. George and Bill had gotten involved in a hilarious game of 'keep away' with Ron and Hermione had actually managed to catch the Quaffle once - even if she did end up dropping it not five seconds later.

The entire time, Harry was aware that everyone was keeping a rather close eye on him. Ron and Hermione tended to hover around him more than necessary, while Bill and Charlie avoided tossing the Quaffle too hard when making passes to him. Perhaps a month ago, such behavior would have angered Harry, but he'd learned to appreciate concern over him. It meant that he had people who cared about him, and that meant more than anything to him.

Smiling, Harry took off into the air, his heart soaring along with him. The cancer, the pain, the sadness, were all picked up by the cold wind and carried off high into the sky, where it couldn't be reached. In that moment, he no longer felt heavy and grounded to the earth.

Today, he was lighter than air.

xxxx

Harry was woken later that night by whimpering and muttering. It sounded like someone in distress. Furrowing his brows, Harry grabbed his glasses and put them on. He could just barely make out the sleeping forms of his two friends next to him through the darkness. Their beds were pushed up next to his, forming one large bed for them to sleep close to one another. It was a habit they'd gotten into over the past few weeks.

Noticing Hermione moving around under the blankets, Harry realized that the noises were coming from her. He could hear her loud breathing and the occasional sobbing. He immediately knew what was happening, having gone through it hundreds of times himself. Reaching a hand out, Harry gently placed it on Hermione's shoulder and shook her awake. She inhaled a sharp intake of breath and sat bolt right. Her breathing was still erratic and Harry could tell that she wasn't 100% aware of her surroundings.

"Hermione?" Harry said carefully.

Her eyes turned on him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "H-Harry?"

"Yeah, it's me," Harry said reassuringly "It's alright, Hermione. It was just a nightmare."

"It was so awful," Hermione choked out, wrapping her arms around herself. "There were dead bodies everywhere."

When he noticed that she was starting to panic, Harry scooted closer to her and gently took one of her hands. He proceeded to do the only thing he could think of. He pressed a finger to the palm of her hand and began gently tracing patterns along her skin.

"Just focus on how that feels," Harry encouraged softly. "Nothing else. Just my finger against your palm."

Harry had discovered that focusing on the feel of something always helped ground him when he was having a panic attack. It drew the focus away from the fear, the irrational emotions and placed it all onto something tangible, something real. It helped bring him back to the present moment.

Seeing that she was starting to calm down, Harry continued tracing his finger along her palm, this time drawing little invisible circles.

"Do you know what shape this is?"

It took her a moment to answer, as if she was struggling to stay focused. "Circle," she finally said, her voice hoarse.

"How about this?"

"Triangle."

Harry nodded encouragingly. "Good. And this one?"

Hermione smiled faintly. "A heart?"

"Exactly," Harry said, "and do you know why I drew a heart?"

"Why?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"Because I heart you," Harry replied with a cheesy grin.

Hermione made a sound that was crossed between a sob and a laugh. "You're such a dork sometimes, Harry."

"Not as much as Ron," Harry laughed.

At that, they both turned their gaze towards the figure lying next to them. Ron was sprawled out on the bed in a very immodest pose. His mouth was hanging open as he snored softly. He hadn't stirred in the slightest despite the commotion that'd been going on right beside him.

"He's one of a kind, that's for sure," Hermione shook her head.

Seeing that Hermione was a lot calmer than before, Harry intertwined his fingers with her and locked their hands together. The moon cast a dim glow through the window, allowing Harry to just barely make out Hermione's features. Even in the darkness, he saw the weight of the world on her face. He understood that feeling completely. He'd carried it around with him practically his entire life. Sometimes he wondered if they'd ever heal from the wounds the world had inflicted upon them.

Still holding her hand tightly, Harry guided Hermione to lie back down with him. They remained silent for a few minutes, just staring up at the shadows that played across the dark ceiling. The quiet was occasionally broken by Ron's snoring, but they found the sound somehow reassuring.

"Do you think it'll ever get better?" Hermione asked in a soft voice.

Harry didn't need clarification to know what she was talking about.

"I'd like to think so," he responded, squeezing her hand. "Some day."

There were probably a million better things Harry could have said in that moment. A wiser person would have said something profound. A smarter person could have given a dozen reasons why everything would be okay. But Harry had never been a wise or smart person - he'd always been Just Harry.

And that seemed to be enough for Hermione, because she laid her head against his shoulder and tightened her hand around his. It was a secret promise to never let go.

That was all that was needed.

"By the way, Harry," Hermione whispered through the darkness. "I heart you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the last one!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. The last chapter. I'd like to thank everyone who has read and commented! I hope you've enjoyed this story.

It was the fourth day of the winter holidays when things took a turn for the worse. Harry had been heading into the kitchen for breakfast when something suddenly felt terribly _wrong_. All of his limbs seized up and a strange, hot feeling traveled from the base of his spine all the way up to his head. A pain viciously ripped through his shoulder and abdomen, causing him to cry out. Vision blurring up, Harry stumbled and tried to find something to brace himself against.

"H-Hermione," he called out, but his voice was so weak even he could barely hear it.

The room suddenly felt like it was tipping forward, and the next thing Harry knew, he was face down on the ground. He could feel hot blood dripping from his nose and pooling on the floor beneath him. Head swimming, Harry tried to move his arm to reach out for something, but all of the strength had drained from his body. He could barely keep his eyes open any longer.

"Oh my God! Harry!" someone screamed. Their voice sounded muffled, like he was listening to them from underneath water.

"Harry!"

"HARRY!"

The last thing Harry saw was several blurred forms rushing to his side.

xxxx

Healer Camden had decided to stop treatments. Harry's cancer had mutated unexpectedly and drastically, making all magical and muggle medicine ineffectual against it. According to Healer Camden, it most likely had something to do with the nature of the curse causing it. It'd spread to just about every organ in Harry's body and they were starting to shut down at a rapid rate. No one said it out loud, but at this point, they were basically waiting for Harry to die.

The next couple of days were spent in constant agony. In an attempt to help comfort him, Hermione had set up his radio beside his bed for him. It did nothing to cover up the sounds of his screaming, though. It felt like someone was stabbing fiery hot needles into every single bone in his body. He'd vomited a couple of times just from the pain. Most of the time he just prayed that it'd knock him unconscious so he didn't have to bear it any longer.

Pain potions did nothing to help. The cancer had rendered them completely useless. Not that he could keep anything down in the first place. The only thing he could do was suffer through it. Ron and Hermione remained diligently at his side, even if half the time he was so delirious he didn't even notice them in the room. They never left unless it was to go to the bathroom or get something to eat. Even then, they always ate their meals in the hospital wing. They did everything they could to help keep Harry comfortable, though there was nothing they could really do except keep him company. They usually struck up conversations in an attempt to distract him from the pain.

"Hey, Harry, look," Hermione announced cheerfully. "It's your NEWT results."

Harry peeled his eyes open and looked over at Hermione's blurry form. His vision had become so abysmal that even his glasses did nothing to help. He could just barely make out the shape of the envelope Hermione was holding, but he nodded his head in indication that she had his attention.

He didn't have high expecations for spectacular results. Just before winter break, Harry had approached McGonagall with the request to take his NEWTs early. The only reason she'd even considered it was due to the special circumstances. It'd taken some persuasion with the Wizarding Examination Authority, but considering _who_ Harry was, they'd conceded to it.

No longer having the strength to keep his eyes open, Harry closed them and just listened to Hermione.

"Oh, not bad, Harry!" she said in a pleased voice. "Defence: O. Charms: E. Transfiguration: E. Herbology: O. Potions: E."

_'Looks like I could have been an auror after all.'_

"That' so not fair," Ron chuckled from beside him. "He took them five months early and still got better scores than I probably will."

Hermione giggled. "You know, that's not as surprising as it sounds, Ron."

A weak smile pulled at Harry's lips, the only sign of his amusement. He was enjoying listening to his friends talk to each other. Their voices were warm and comforting, which helped distract him from the pain. For a moment, he could almost pretend that things were normal again, because that's all he really wanted - for things to be normal. Just him and his friends together, as always.

The sound of their talking got farther and farther away as Harry slowly drifted off into a fitful slumber. He couldn't have been asleep for longer than fifteen minutes before he was violently woken up by a sharp pain tearing through his shoulder. He cried out loudly and gripped the sheets so hard that his hands started shaking. Hermione and Ron were at his side in an instant, placing their hands on his back to rub it soothingly.

"We're right here, Harry," Hermione said in a shaky voice. "Just breathe, it'll pass."

His friends were rendered helpless as they watched him writhe in agony. Harry curled up in a fetal position and balled the sheets in his hands, hot tears squeezing out of his eyes. The normal quiet of the hospital wing was broken by his screams, sounding pathetic even to his own ears. He started mentally begging for the pain to end. He just wanted it all to end.

The mattress dipped as Hermione slid onto the bed behind him. Her arm snaked around his waist and cradled him close to her chest. Her other hand carded through his hair as she whispered soft, soothing words into his ear. Ron sat on the other side of the bed, taking Harry's hand in his and allowing him to squeeze it as hard as he needed to.

Neither of them let go of him the entire night.

xxxxx

_The boy and the dark figure stood staring at each other from across the empty, white space. There was no one else but them. The world had fallen away and they were all that remained._

_The boy met the glowing red eyes of the figure opposite him. His first instinct was to be afraid. He saw death in those eyes._

_His death._

_But he wasn't afraid._

_He opened his mouth and formed three silent words. Only the figure across from him was meant to know what he'd said._

_Slowly, the figure started crumbling away, turning to dust and disappearing into the vast whiteness._

_The boy turned and walked away._

Sucking in a deep breath, Harry opened his eyes and watched the dark ceiling swirl into view. His heart was fluttering quickly against his chest, but it wasn't out of fear from the dream. The feeling was much different from that. He could hear soft breathing from beside him, indicating that Ron and Hermione were still there. Like usual, they'd pushed the hospital beds together so they could sleep by Harry.

With an odd, urgent feeling, Harry sat up straight in the bed and looked around. His movements must have woken Ron and Hermione, because they immediately sat up next to him.

"Harry?" Ron said, concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Want me to go get Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione asked, a light hand touching his shoulder.

Harry just shook his head and pushed the blankets off his body. Something in him was telling him he needed to hurry - that he needed to get somewhere.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, startled. "What are you doing?"

"I need to get to Gryffindor Tower," Harry replied.

Ron frowned. "Harry, you should stay here."

Harry shook his head again, a frantic feeling seizing his chest. "Please, I need to get to Gryffindor Tower."

As Harry stood from the bed, Ron and Hermione were at his sides in an instant. They grabbed hold of his arms to keep him steady and carefully helped him walk out of the hospital wing. Every step of the way was pure agony, but the only thing Harry could focus on was getting back to the tower. For some reason, it was extremely important that he made it there.

When they reached the portrait, Hermione muttered the password and guided Harry through the opening.

"What now, Harry?" Ron asked once they were in the common room.

"Up to the dorms," Harry replied hoarsely. "Take me to my bed."

They practically had to carry him up the stairs because he did not have strength to lift his legs. Fortunately, he was so light that it wasn't a problem. They gently guided him over to the bed and helped him get into it. Breathing heavily and heart pounding against his chest, Harry closed his eyes for a few moments. When he reopened them, he turned to look at Ron and Hermione.

They seemed to understand what he wanted, because they carefully slid into the bed on either side of him. They instantly locked hands with his and curled around his body. Their warmth pressing against him made Harry feel safe and secure. The feeling of urgency and panic slowly faded away. Everything felt right, now - he was home.

"It's alright, Harry," Hermione whispered, tears sliding down her cheeks. "It's alright."

"M'tired," Harry said in a fading voice.

"Go to sleep, mate," Ron replied in a choke voice . "We'll be here when you wake up."

But they knew he wouldn't wake up this time. Harry felt his breathing become shallow and his heart beat start to slow. He gripped his friends' hands and turned to look out the window. The sun was just coming up over the horizon, flooding the room with brilliant yellows and golds.

Harry took in one last breath.

_It was beautiful._


End file.
